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....

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...

Truth shrilled in prison or cemetary.

Energy is neither created nor destroyed. It just changes shape.

Some people die and you realize that the only mark they left on earth are the tomb stones under which they lie. The impacts you make on earth should be something worthy to improve lives.

Delay is not a help-mate. The cemetary is full of people who thought they could DO IT tomorrow. Do It Now!