William Cullen Bryant Quotes

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

Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I lay me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be: Home is the sailor, home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill.

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.

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

If you are going to lower me into the grave, and I feel something is wrong, I will get up.

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

This is the spot where I will lie When life has had enough of me, These are the grasses that will blow Above me like a living sea. These gay old lilies will not shrink To draw their life from death of mine, And I will give my body's fire To make blue flowers on this vine. "O Soul," I said, "have you no tears? Was not the body dear to you?" I heard my soul say carelessly, "The myrtle flowers will grow more blue.

Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are sleeping.Under the humble walls of the little catholic churchyard,In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and unnoticed;Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest and forever,Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labors,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed their journey!

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

If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.

He lies below, correct in cypress wood, And entertains the most exclusive worms.

Lord, when my spirit shall return to thee, At the foot of a friendly tree let my body be buried, That this dust may rise and rejoice among the branches.

No matter who you are, you will be put abed at last with a shovel.

Here lies Jack Williams. He done his damndest.

I want death to find me planting my cabbages.

Oh the grave!--the grave!--It buries every error--covers every defect--extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies mouldering before him!

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

There was earth inside them, and they dug.

Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Here lies Dobby, a free elf.

A grave is such a quiet place.

Six feet of dirt make all men equal.

And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it.