Best 50 quotes in «epitaph quotes» category

I'm sorry. You went too far.' Lovely. What an epitaph.

I never understood why when you died, you didn't just vanish, everything should just keep going on the way it was only you just wouldn't be there. I always thought I'd like my own tombstone to be blank. No epitaph, and no name. Well, actually, I'd like it to say 'figment'.

It had been a bad trip ... fast and wild in some moments, slow and dirty in others, but on balance it looked like a bummer. On my way back to San Francisco, I tried to compose a fitting epitaph. I wanted something original, but there was no escaping the echo of Mistah Kurtz' final words from the heart of darkness: "The horror! The horror! ... Exterminate all the brutes!

Instead of writing epitaph on your grave ; more beautiful and memorable is to leave some hand written letters to your wife, sons and daughters and grandchildren.

My life will end someday, but it will end at my convenience.

I tried and failed. I tried again and again and succeeded. [Epitaph from Gail Borden's gravestone.]

Mustn't Grumble." - My personally chosen epitaph

I used to measure the skies, now I measure the shadows of Earth. Although my mind was sky-bound, the shadow of my body lies here. [Epitaph he composed for himself a few months before he died]

Live your epitaph

O Stranger, send the news home to the people of Sparta that here we Are laid to rest: the commands they gave us have been obeyed. Ὦ ξεῖν', ἀγγέλλειν Λακεδαιμονίοις ὅτι τῇδε κείμεθα, τοῖς κείνων ῥήμασι πειθόμενοι. [Epitaph of the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae]

Science has never killed or persecuted a single person for doubting or denying its teaching, and most of these teaching have been true; but religion has murdered millions for doubting or denying her dogmas and most of these dogmas have been false. All stories about gods and devils, of heavens and hells, as they do not conform to nature, and are not apparent to sense, should be rejected without consideration. Beyond the universe there is nothing and within the universe the supernatural does not and cannot exist. Of all deceivers who have plagued mankind, none are so deeply ruinous to human happiness as those imposters who pretend to lead by a light above nature. The lips of the dead are closed forever. There comes no voice from the tomb. Christianity is responsible for having cast the fable of eternal fire over almost every grave.

Reader one moment stop and think, That I am in eternity and you are on the brink.

Warm summer sun, shine friendly here Warm western wind, blow kindly here; Green sod above, rest light, rest light, Good-night, Annette! Sweetheart, good-night!

She is brave and strong and broken all at once. As she speaks it is as if her existence is no longer real to her in itself, more like a living epitaph to a life that was.

Si monumentum requiris circumspice (If you seek his monument, look around.) [Epitaph on Wren's tomb in St. Paul's Cathedral]

The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna" Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him, But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him, But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But left him alone with his glory.

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)

Whatsume'er the failings on his part, Remember reader he were that good in his hart.

[Epitaph:] Involved in a plot.

After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

A man must stand erect, not be kept erect by others.

Buffy Anne Summers 1981-2001 Beloved sister devoted friend she saved the world a lot.

Can't' will be the epitaph of the British Empire - unless we wake up in time.

Epitaphs for a gravestone: 'Please: no hooliganism'; or 'Es prohibe se hace agua aqui'; or 'No comment'.

What's fame, after all? It can be what someone writes on your tombstone.

Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning, every poem an epitaph.

Every sin is a mistake, as well as a wrong; and the epitaph for the sinner is, "Thou fool!

I wonder how many of our tombstones will have to be inscribed with the epitaph 'Died of too many meetings'?

Green leaves on a dead tree is our epitaph-green leaves, dear reader, on a dead tree.

History: a collection of epitaphs.

Poet: gardener of epitaphs.

Over the epitaph of this generation it will say ENTERTAINED TO DEATH.

Let there be no inscription upon my tomb; let no man write my epitaph: no man can write my epitaph.

[On an epitaph for herself:] Under here, we're all equal.

She did it the hard way.

[Requesting her epitaph to read this way:] Excuse my dust.

[Suggesting her epitaph:] This is too deep for me.

[Suggesting an epitaph for herself:] This is on me.

To live in the hearts of others is not to die

[Dust] Agatha Morley all her life grumbled at dust like a good wife ... Six feet under the earth she lies with dust at her feet and dust in her eyes.

What I spent I lost; what I possessed is left to others; what I gave away remains with me.

A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not enough. [Alexander's tombstone epitaph]

Growing older is a blurred birth certificate that only can take us to this world’s perplexed journey, but it cannot smear the letters of the epitaph

Epitaph. Not next year, not the next one, Not the year after that. But ages From here, Clad in love stained sleeping bags, Dying with feet wrapped in endless Shirts and pillow cases, Crumbling with 99 flakes clutched Between thumb and palm, dripping Yellow cream from twig fingers, Basking our white haired chests on Green grassed parks under purple Skies. Laughing over coffee after Bath tubs of coffee have passed Through our guts. Huddled, lonely, Under heaped clothes, here lay us...

Everything I have become, everything I will ever accomplish cannot compare to my most impressive feat: I have loved you fiercely and assiduously with the very marrow inside my bones. So that when I die, they can crack them to find you there. So that when I die, they can open me up and see your name tattooed on the wall of my heart. So that when I die, my epitaph will neither commemorate who I was nor what I did, but will read: “She loved. And loved. And loved.” And so, I smile now, because that is no small thing.

Her close friends have gathered. Lord, ain't it a shame Grieving together Sharing the blame. But when she was dying Lord, we let her down. There's no use cryin' It can't help her now. The party's all over Drink up and go home. It's too late to love her And leave her alone. Just say she was someone Lord, so far from home Whose life was so lonesome She died all alone Who dreamed pretty dreams That never came true Lord, why was she born So black and blue? Oh, why was she born So black and blue? Epitaph (Black And Blue) Written by: Kris Kristofferson Note: "Epitaph" is about Janis Joplin.

How many infinite lives have been lived since man first had consciousness or awareness of his soul? And how many of those souls have stared up at the stars in wonder; pondered the meaning of their existence, the meaning of life, the thoughts of their ancestors, dreamed of the futures of his offspring and the purpose of all that is man? How long will we wander before the truth is found?

Here all may see my body lie/ But not my soul, for that can fly!

Here was buried Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of American Independence, of the Statute of Virginia for Religious Freedom, and Father of the University of Virginia. [Epitaph, upon his instructions to erect a 'a plain die or cube ... surmounted by an Obelisk' with 'the following inscription, and not a word more…because by these, as testimonials that I have lived, I wish most to be remembered.' It omits that he had been President of the United States, a position of political power and prestige, and celebrates his involvement in the creation of the means of inspiration and instruction by which many human lives have been liberated from oppression and ignorance]

Coelorum perrupit claustra. He broke through the barriers of the skies. [Herschel's epitaph]