Edna St. Vincent Millay Quotes

A grave, on which to rest from singing?

Quiet through the grave go I; or else beneath the graves I lie

They say in the grave there is peace, and peace and the grave are one and the same.

Always the idea of unbroken quiet broods around the grave. It is a port where the storms of life never beat, and the forms that have been tossed on its chafing waves lie quiet forevermore. There the child nestles as peacefully as ever it lay in its mother's arms, and the workman's hands lie still by his side, and the thinker's brain is pillowed in silent mystery, and the poor girl's broken heart is steeped in a balm that extracts its secret woe, and is in the keeping of a charity that covers all blame.

Peace is a certificate you get in the grave.

Here lies my wife: here let her lie! Now she's at rest, and so am I.

Peace is in the grave.

Go now, verses, on your light feet, you have not trodden hard on the old earth where the graves laugh when they see their guests, the one corpse stacked on top of the other. Go now and stagger to her whom I do not know.

Tombstones don't talk back.

You look like a talent scout for a cemetery.

I have nothing against undertakers personally. It's just that I wouldn't want one to bury my sister.

I've always loved cemeteries since I was a kid. They're very calm.

There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found, They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.

Death is the quiet haven of us all.

. . . my bones they'll burn or bury. It'll be my death.

I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave - thank God for the quiet grave

Here Skugg lies snug As a bug in a rug.

The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' oppressed!

I wanted to be calm, like a mound with all its cities destroyed, and tranquil, like a full cemetery.

When they finally put you in the ground, I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down.

When friends and lovers die and your world gets quieter; that's when the silence comes closer; that's when next isn't the least bit theoretical or abstract.

People love to hate the gravedigger.

It gives a fellow an awful shiver to hear the first shovelful of dirt and gravel rattle down upon the coffin; but after it is covered, it falls gently and makes no sound. The feeling of rest is perfect. There's no more nagging, no more pain!

I love a cardboard coffin. Both Mummy and Daddy went off in cardboard coffins, painted - Daddy's was rifle green. Beautifully made.

The beautiful uncut hair of graves.