Best 120 quotes in «grave quotes» category

The only way to survive after death is by breathing life into the universe before death.

There is an end to every journey.

There is more life on a single blade of grass than I can ever comprehend or create...I stay humble in awe of life, not the fear and finality of death. All of the earth is my cradle and my grave.

There is at least one advantage to being an Indonesian citizen: With this country's expanse of land and even greater expanse of sea, it's not difficult finding space for one's grave.

There is no antidote against the opium of time, which temporally considereth all things: our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors. Gravestones tell truth scarce forty years. Generations pass while some trees stand, and old families last not three oaks.

The victims of homicide are the only ones who carry the true secrets of humanity to the grave. The ones only God knows

The tragedy waiting for politicians in future is greater than the gain in politics if it is measured, politicians kill, steal and betray the voters, but at the end they go to early grave, lose their peace and become miserable for the rest of their life.

Tommy asks where Carolyn is. "She's at Cindy's." "They live together now," Salvador added. "Didn’t they just start dating?" Tommy asked. Tiger answered, "Yeah... A couple of WEEKS ago." Unhappy about the news, Tommy objects to Carolyn moving in with Cindy. "That's how it happens in our WORLD," Salvador said. "One night you MEET, the next night you MOVE IN, and before you KNOW IT- you're digging a GRAVE IN THE BACK YARD FOR YOUR LOVER DURING A FREAK THUNDERSTORM." "THAT IS HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE," Tommy said. After Salvador apologizes, Tommy asks how Raven's doing in prison. "Fucking GREAT." Tiger answered. "How do you THINK?" "No longer on suicide watch?" "NO... FUCK..." "Speaking of fucking. Is he still with BULL DOG?" "I REALLY don’t wanna TALK about RAVEN right now- AND WHO HE'S FUCKING. Talk about INAPPROPRIATE.

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

They burnt not children before their teeth appeared, as apprehending their bodies too tender a morsel for fire, and that their gristly bones would scarce leave separable relicks after the pyral combustion. That they kindled not fire in their houses for some days after was a strict memorial of the late afflicting fire. And mourning without hope, they had an happy fraud against excessive lamentation, by a common opinion that deep sorrows disturb their ghosts.

This world rubs me raw, scours me smooth like an SOS pad put to a grease-caked skillet. And pain: it stabs and scrapes and pulls me back to earth, my final B&B, that worm-spun cot of cool black sod.

Throw your hands and pull up those in the valley do the hill. However, press your feet on the ground so hard that you don’t fall into the same valley together. Some people’s helping hands became their grave digging tools!

They stand beside a grave. Hermann sprinkles upon it a powder, which falls in sparkles of light from his fingers. The earth begins to heave; and presently, as a volcano casts up its ashes, the grave empties itself. Slowly and slowly, like the rippling waves of a becalmed ocean, it rises to the surface, divides, and falls in crumbling heaps on either side. Then there ascends the venerable figure of an aged man, clothed in robes of purple and scarlet, the ensigns of senatorial dignity. At the same moment, the spectre arm, by wondrous motion of its own, tears itself aloft, and becomes a dimly gleaming torch; each livid finger sending forth pale red dusky flames, which fling a horrid glare upon the cadaverous features of the phantom. ("The Forsaken Of God")

To be knav'd out of our graves, to have our skulls made drinking-bowls, and our bones turned into pipes, to delight and sport our enemies, are tragical abominations escaped in burning burials.

We all know that birth ultimately ends with death.

Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place, until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be? He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot. (pause) Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener. At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. (Pause.) I can't go on! (Pause.) What have I said?

Two things I ask of my God today. That my faith be hoisted high like a kite up in the sky and my fear be buried deeply like a carcass into the soil.

Walking in close fellowship with God is a spiritual self.

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

wealth and greatness are not destined for the grave

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

We came us spirit into the world. We shall depart us spirit out of the world.

What virtue yet sleeps in this terra damnata and aged cinders, were petty magic to experiment. These crumbling relicks and long fired particles superannuate such expectations; bones, hairs, nails, and teeth of the dead, were the treasures of old sorcerers.

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

With her I'd buried myself, every memory of who I was now, six feet under with the sister I'd put there.

When I lived here and woke up from the fog in my head, I would walk by myself to the grave site set aside for me, so that I could feel comfortable if I lived there after death.

...when I look at and study the ranks of my books - for I have put the name of each author on the binding - I feel as if I am looking at the holy graves of those who wrote them.

Whilst the wolflets bayed, A grave was made, And then with the strokes of a silver spade, It was filled to make a mound. And for two cold days and three long nights, The father tended that holy plot; And stayed by where his wife was laid, In the grave within the ground.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.

With horror he perceived that, by uniting himself as he had with the dead, he had cut himself off from the living. Stripped of all earthly hope, bereft of every consolation, he was rendered as poor as mortal can possibly be on this side of the grave.

Alone, all alone in the world, sad and small like a nightingale serenading the infinite. How could a love so tender and sweet become the cross of my pain? No, no, I can't conceive I won't receive your precious lips again. My eyes are tired of weeping, my heart of beating. If perhaps some crystal moment before dawn or twilight you remember me, bring only a bouquet of tears to lay upon my thirsty grave.

You called her Kitten? And she let you? She put me in a coma for three days when I called her that! My balls never recovered from her smashing them into my spine!

You cannot choose the womb that carried you but you can determine the tomb that takes you home.

Your potentials should become blessings to the earth, giving hope to people and solving the problems that you were born to solve, while you yourself go to the grave empty.

After six long hours of driving and three rest stops, Tiger pulls up to a snow-topped, metal speaker box just outside the State Penitentiary's first gate in Walla Walla. As he rolls down his window and snow flies in his face, Joshua starts begging for a Happy Meal. I turn around, snapping at him. "This ISN'T MCDONALDS and YOU AREN'T HUNGRY. NOW SHUT UP BRAT." A loud scratchy masculine voice blasts out of the speaker. "CAN I HELP YOU?" Tiger leans out the window, as he answers- We're here to visit Raven Chandler. "HAVE YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?" "Yes sir. I've been here A LOT." "WHERE'S HIS MOTHER?" "I don't know.. I haven't seen her in months." "NOT THE PRISONER'S MOTHER. THE BRAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF YOUR JEEP." "Oh- HIM-" As he turns, smiling and sticking his tongue out at Joshua, I lean towards his window to answer the guard's question. "SHE'S IN VEGAS, SIR. I'M BABYSITTING. HE'S MY GODSON." When the speaker remains disturbingly silent for far too long, I continue. "HE'S A GOOD BOY SIR. HE WON'T BE ANY TROUBLE- I SWEAR." "THAT'S RIGHT," Tiger said. "HE SWEARS ON THE LITTLE BRAT'S MOTHER'S GRAVE.

Yes, I lay in my grave. But if you lie in a grave long enough, you get accustomed to it and you don't want to part from it. He had given me a pill of cyanide, He and his wife and their son also carried such pills. We all lived with death, and I want you to know that one can fall in love with death. Whoever has loved death cannot love anything else any more. When the liberation came and they told me to leave, I didn't want to go. I clung to the threshold like an ox being dragged to the slaughter. ("Hanka")

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

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

You will fall with me as a stone in the grave

Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. But habit is a great deadener. At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, He is sleeping, he knows nothing. Let him sleep on.

Any church that operates in prayerless and powerless Christianity spend their days and years conducting dust to dust rites in the burial grounds.

Death is like a Black Hole. Physics is silent in a grave.

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!

Before an empty tomb, we will come to know that Christ our Lord has burst the bands of death and stands forever triumphant over the grave.

But I was awake, sitting by the window looking down at the trailer and Mr. Zoltan's truck. I could not sleep. That is how it is with folks my age. We take naps during the day, and then we cannot sleep at night. I think that it is because God is getting us ready for the grave. Is that right? Did He ever tell you? ("The Little Stranger")

Death is like a Black Hole. Biology is silent in a grave.

At the grave's precipice, our feet scuff dirt, and chunks of the firmament fall away.

Be happy but when sad times come, know that God allow these time for self-realisation.

Body is a home, a prison and a grave.

Creation has become so broad, there’s no emptiness. Everything swarms and seethes. The void has destroyed itself; creation is its wound, we are its drops of blood, the world is the grave in which it rots.