Breathing seemed harder in the cemetery, and selfish, somehow…

I visited my old haunt, but somehow without all my old friends there with me, the cemetery just wasn’t the same.

I love you,” and I couldn’t even tell if she was 300 miles away, or 6 feet below my feet and 300 years away.

My grandpa looks good in booty shorts. It’s too damn bad he’s dead and can’t twerk it for the small crowd that’s gathered in the cemetery.

It’s like a memorial to Atlantis or Lyonesse: these are the stone buoys that mark a drowned world.

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;Make dust our paper and with rainy eyesWrite sorrow on the bosom of the earth,Let’s choose executors and talk of wills

The cemetery is an open space among the ruins, covered in winter with violets and daisies. It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a place.

He’d seen a lot of bizarre items left at gravesides, like a carton of eggs, a pair of reading glasses, a bag of licorice, smooth stones, a spoon.

Go to a cemetery for the scenery. After you die, go back to the cemetery to become one with nature.

I shook with cold and fear, without being able to answer. After a lapse of some moments, I was again called. I made an effort to speak, and then felt the bandage which wrapped me from head to foot. It was my shroud. At last, I managed feebly to articulate, ‘Who calls?”Tis I’ said a...

I went to visit my dad. He didn’t say a word to me. Or if he did, I couldn’t hear it through the grass, the dirt, and his coffin lid.

I’m a year older than 365 days ago, and I’m having trouble bending my knees and my lower back is killing me. Everything reminds me of death. Especially bending over all day to steal the flowers off all the graves in the cemetery.

If you insist on digging for the truth, you can start at the cemetery. But not the one on the wealthy side of town, because I already dug up everything of value.

Show your compassion to people in their life time; no amount of your tears can serve as compensation when their coffins are lowered!

Sometimes to escape the noise of haunting memories, you need your best friends hand in your own, to help erase the sound and fill you with a sense of peace, even if it’s temporary.

Seeing that I would never manage to fall asleep, I arose, lit a candle, and after dressing went outside.Beneath the dull glow of the winter moon the snow glowed like pale blue china. The sidewalks sparkled weakly beneath the rays of the flickering street lamps; the benumbed streets slumbered forlornly. I walked, passing one corner...

Cemeteries are full of unfulfilled dreams… countless echoes of ‘could have’ and ‘should have’… countless books unwritten… countless songs unsung… I want to live my life in such a way that when my body is laid to rest, it will be a well needed rest from a life well lived, a song well sung, a...

Wherever you go in the next catastrophéBe it sickroom, or prison, or cemet’ryDo not fear that your stay will besolit’ryCountless souls share your fate,you’ll have company!

One grave in every graveyard belongs to the ghouls. Wander any graveyard long enough and you will find it – water stained and bulging, with cracked or broken stone, scraggly grass or rank weeds about it, and a feeling, when you reach it, of abandonment. It may be colder than the other gravestones, too, and...

A crazy man finishes in the cemetery.

Not that there seems to be any appropriate place to bury someone, but these municipal cemeteries, or any cemetery at all for that matter, like the ones by the highway, or the ones in the middle of town, with all these bodies with their corresponding rocks – oh it’s just too primitive and vulgar, isn’t...

You look like a talent scout for a cemetery.

His last name is either Groves or Graves or whatever the hell I wrote, trees or cemetery. We drank coffee like two people who should have been three.

My book has no plot. Wait, yes it does—in the cemetery. It’s a love story where one character is dead, and the other is a dirty pervert.

The beauty of the twentieth century is the charm of the hospital, the grace of the cemetery, of consumption and emaciation. I admit that I have submitted to it all; worse, I have loved with all my heart.

A Dream of Fear”)

Tombstones covered the dale, the smooth marble surfaces bright. She had spent days here as a teenager, though not out of any awareness of mortality. Like every adolescent, she intended to live forever.

Have a look around, my pretty, we are surrounded by Death in all forms – just the two of us are still alive –

I do not believe in the government of the lash, if any one of you ever expects to whip your children again, I want you to have a photograph taken of yourself when you are in the act, with your face red with vulgar anger, and the face of the little child, with eyes swimming...

I remember calling the council’s cemetery department to ask about body decomposition in different soil types. Once they had verified that I was a novelist and not a sicko, they were extremely helpful.

It’s easier to miss her at a cemetery, where she’s never been anything but dead, than to miss her at all the places where she was alive.

I dig art. With a shovel. In the cemetery.

Being buried alive in a cemetery would put me in grave danger.

Even though I buried our love in a coffin, it isn’t dead. No, our love is very much alive. Or at least it was yesterday, when I went to visit the cemetery.

The harbour of influence is richer in the cemeteries where people are buried with their music on their tongues unsung. Don’t leave your potentials untouched!

I stopped in St. Bernadette’s Cemetery one of my favorite places… The trunks of six giant oaks rise like columns supporting a ceiling formed by their interlocking crowns. In the quiet space below, is laid out an aisle similar to those in any library. The gravestones are like rows of books bearing the names of...

Behind anger, is hidden the cemetery. (Derrière la colère, – Se cache le cimetière.)

The moon fled eastward like a frightened dove, while the stars changed their places in the heavens, like a disbanding army.’Where are we?’ asked Gil Gil.’In France,’ responded the Angel of Death. ‘We have now traversed a large portion of the two bellicose nations which waged so sanguinary a war with each other at the...

In the beginning we start with roses. The king’s flower right? Only they wilt in less than a day, especially when exposed to the elements. But Carnations? Oh, what a beautiful flower. They come in every color. True, some are painted, but that doesn’t mean they are less beautiful, and they never wilt.

My ghost is the only soul who ever comes to cry on my grave… Only the skies cried sincerely on my funeral.

I am the ghost in the empty jar. My silence belongs in the cemetery, just like all my ex girlfriends. Long live love!

When you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who...

If you’re ever in a ghost town, it’s only appropriate to visit the cemetery. Also, ever thought that coffee’s steam is the rising soul of your dead sleep?

The earth has lots of love to give, if you just know where to dig. My advice is start in the cemetery.

I just started working the graveyard shift at the cemetery. Come to think of it, every shift at the cemetery is the graveyard shift.

You plan to rob the world of its treasures if you decide to die with your potentials unleashed! The world needs your leadership influence; don’t take it raw to the cemetery!

The atmosphere is always very grave when I walk into a cemetery.

The most dangerous flower is one that grows on a grave. Everybody in its vicinity is dead. That’s why I hand-picked it for my mother-in-law.

The twin guardian angels whose eyes and hands and wings had focused protective attention on the souls that lay there no longer faced each other. They stared blindly into a random middle distance. The scroll they held between them proclaiming eternal resurrection was broken in two.

I had a dream about you. Flowers were overflowing in the cemetery, so we decided to have a picnic there. You brought apple pie, and I brought my Aunt Mildred, who’d been dead for some time and I just hadn’t gotten around to disposing of her body. I thought you’d think me both efficient and...