Best 93 quotes in «graveyard quotes» category

Stop digging up the past, lay down your shovel, the past is dead.

The cart slowed as they came to a place so dark and quiet that it seemed as if they had entered some remote forest. Peeking beneath the hem of the cart's canvas covering, Garrett saw towering gates covered with ivy, and ghostly sculptures of angels, and solemn figures of men, women, and children with their arms crossed in resignation upon their breasts. Graveyard sculptures. A stab of horror went through her, and she crawled to the front of the cart to where West Ravenel was sitting with the driver. "Where the devil are you taking us, Mr. Ravenel?" He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows raised. "I told you before- a private railway station." "It looks like a cemetery." "It's a cemetery station," he admitted. "With a dedicated line that runs funeral trains out to the burial grounds. It also happens to connect to the main lines and branches of the London Ironstone Railroad, owned by our mutual friend Tom Severin." "You told Mr. Severin about all this? Dear God. Can we trust him?" West grimaced slightly. "One never wants to be in the position of having to trust Severin," he admitted. "But he's the only one who could obtain clearances for a special train so quickly." They approached a massive brick and stone building housing a railway platform. A ponderous stone sign adorned the top of the carriage entrance: Silent Gardens. Just below it, the shape of an open book emblazoned with words had been carved in the stone. Ad Meliora. "Toward better things," Garrett translated beneath her breath.

The dead neither see nor ear.

The departed souls shall never return.

The dead has always been within us, its just the graveyard where we lay to rest.

The graveyard is every man final resting place.

The graveyard is not the final resting place of our dear departed but an ephemeral repository of their remains. The real graveyard, however, is somewhere deep in our heart, where we can always visit them at any time of the day, talk about some unforgettable summers, or cry in solitude as if they were always there for us to stay. And should our twilight come, when we can no longer see the light of the day, some people dear to us will build a graveyard in their hearts. They will let us stay for a while or perhaps longer, as long as they continue to remember, but it does not matter anymore. What is comforting to know, no matter how tragic or tranquil our death may be, somewhere somehow someone will always build a sublime place for us to stay. (Danny Castillones Sillada, The Graveyard In Our Heart)

The graveyard is the everlasting home of every man.

The greatest loss is the lost of life.

The graveyard was at the top of the hill. It looked over all of the town. The town was hills - hills that issued down in trickles and then creeks and then rivers of cobblestone into the town, to flood the town with rough and beautiful stone that had been polished into smooth flatness over the centuries. It was a pointed irony that the very best view of the town could be had from the cemetery hill, where high, thick walls surrounded a collection of tombstones like wedding cakes, frosted with white angels and iced with ribbons and scrolls, one against another, toppling, shining cold. It was like a cake confectioner's yard. Some tombs were big as beds. From here, on freezing evenings, you could look down at the candle-lit valley, hear dogs bark, sharp as tuning forks banged on a flat stone, see all the funeral processions coming up the hill in the dark, coffins balanced on shoulders. ("The Candy Skull")

The greatest loss is the loss of life.

The only lost in life is death.

The Houselands. Graveyard to the ones who got locked out. A chill ran up London’s spine. What the hell were they doing?

There is no shortage of dead people in graveyards that got there through blood clots.

There is an end to everything.

What are we fighting for? When go down the grave naked?

The world slides, the world goes, and death makes equal the rich and the poor

We all want to become more than we are, we want to live forever, that is why we hate death and create the afterlife.

We are only mortal flesh.

There were dozens of stones of all sizes in the small meadow. Tall stones, bigger than either of the boys, and small ones, just the right size for sitting on. There were some broken stones. The Runt knew what sort of place this was, but it did not scare him. It was a loved place.

The same pot that gave birth to the angels created the demons too. And eventually, there came a time where the differences between both races perished. What came out of the pot next shook the whole universe, and turned it into a graveyard of dreams.

We must make time to reflect on life.Someday this life will be gone.

A city without books, a city without a library is like a graveyard.

You don’t need a sad soul to feel the beauty of a dead grave Just stay with the pale moon when darkness wants the night to be brave

When Harper was in among the stones she could see brass plaques screwed into the towering pillars of granite. One listed the names of seventeen boys who had died in the mud of eastern France during the First World War. Another listed the names of thirty-four boys who had died on the beaches of western France during the Second. Harper thought all tombstones should be this size, that the small blocks to be found in most graveyards did not even begin to express the sickening enormity of losing a virgin son, thousands of miles away, in the muck and cold. You needed something so big you felt it might topple over and crush you.

Without hope we fail to exist.

You are a cool cemetery. You have the sinner’s grave You have the saint’s earth colliding You have all the beds narrow as a knife; as if a rally of tombstones to defend death. But you can’t really postpone the inauguration of my burial, can you? From the poem - Few Words to Cemetery

As we go on with our lives we tend to forget that the jails and the hospitals and the madhouses and the graveyards are packed.

System debugging has always been a graveyard-shift occupation, like astronomy.

Being in jail is difficult too because it's like being in a graveyard, you can't do much.

Carney is like a graveyard where everyone already owns their plots and has built houses on top of them.

Perpetual Peace is only found in the graveyard.

Bod quite liked crows. He thought they were funny and he liked the way they helped to keep the graveyard tidy.

Disneyland remains the central attraction of Southern California, but the graveyard remains our reality.

every heart has its graveyard.

Fear is contagious. You can catch it.

I was their bar freak, they needed me to make themselves feel better. just like, at times, I needed that graveyard.

Politics can be the graveyard of the poet. And only poetry can be his resurrection.

The Internet is a graveyard, a bright malfunctioning littoral, and it is entirely necropastoral. But the necropastoral can't be sustained - it's non-sustainable.

Welcome to the graveyard of ambition.

We destroy ourselves when we stop feeling. If you bury your feelings within you, you become a graveyard.

The new pornography is left-wing; and the new pornography is a vast graveyard where the Left has gone to die. The Left cannot have its whores and its politics too.

There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.

A chill swept through the air, the sort of graveyard kiss promising bad news to follow.

You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it.

A place for the newly weds and nearly deads I'm counting the stones I hope you know I love you. Got a lot of friends 6 feet under us. Counting down the days till we join the party. Thoughts of your nightmare projected through mine... Breathing in these lies is no surprise These evil things are all we know Lets take these lives where we want to go. The future is our prize, when the stars align. Ghouls and ghosts will haunt my soul but they will never take me. Before I go, I want to show that we can make a difference. We've got some dumb perceptions. But I've got the death connection... All the hate that you have... Just throw it away Life is meant for more, But we're too distracted.. Too caught up in the anger and judgment.. Caught up in the web of lies I've heard these things keep our blood boiling, Keeps us alive, and moving forward... If that's the case I was born a dead man. And I'm forever a ghost. Hatred is something that we're brought up to see. Now everybody's looking at me I hope they know... They won't get their satisfaction.

After the raid, the neighborhood was officially repossessed by the city of Portland, and a number of the houses were razed. The plan was to set up new low-income condos for some of the municipal workers, but construction stalled after the terrorist incidents, and as I cross over into the Highlands, all I see is rubble: holes in the ground, and trees felled and left with their roots exposed to the sky, dirty, churned earth, and rusting metal signs declaring it a hard-hat area. It’s so quiet that even the sound of my wheels as they turn seems overloud. A thought comes to me suddenly, unbidden—Quiet through the grave go I; or else beneath the graves I lie—the old rhyme we used to whisper as kids when we passed a graveyard. A graveyard: That’s exactly what the Highlands is like now.

At the end of life, nobody knows where the spirit goes.

A sematary," I say. "A what?" Viola says, looking round at all the square stones marking out their graves. Must be a hundred, maybe two, in orderly rows and well-kept grass. Settler life is hard and it's short and lotsa New World people have lost the battle. "It's a place for burying dead folk," I say. Her eyes widen. "A place for doing what?" "Don't people die in space?" I ask. "Yeah," she says. "But we burn them. We don't put them in holes." She crosses her arms around herself, mouth and forehead frowning, peering around at the graves. "How can this be sanitary?

At first are moving tombs on the surface of the surface of the earth; then we become static tombs in the brims of the cemetary soil; waiting to become eternal people in fellowship for God. I know there is another fellowship in heaven!