Graves Quotes
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There are grave difficulties on every hand, and more are looming ahead. Therefore, we must go forward.
William Carey
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They fell, but o'er their glorious grave Floats free the banner of the cause they died to save.
Francis Marion Crawford
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Will you walk out of the air, my lord? HAMLET Into my grave.
William Shakespeare
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When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.
Virginia Woolf
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On her UNICEF work: I'm glad I've got a name, because I'm using it for what it's worth. ... I do not want to see mothers and fathers digging graves for their children.
Audrey Hepburn
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The clouds were flying fast, the wind was coming up in gusts, banging some neighboring shutters that had broken loose, twirling the rusty chimney-cowls and weathercocks, and rushing round and round a confined adjacent churchyard as if it had a mind to blow the dead citizens out of their graves. The low thunder, muttering in all quarters of the sky at once, seemed to threaten vengeance for this attempted desecration, and to mutter, "Let them rest! Let them rest!
Charles Dickens
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There is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be,- In the cold grave, under the deep, deep sea, Or in the wide desert where no life is found.
Thomas Hood
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The Negroes are facing the alternative of rising in the sphere of production to supply their proportion of the manufacturers and merchants or of going down to the graves of paupers.
Carter G. Woodson
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Let thy carriage be such as becomes a man grave settled and attentive to that which is spoken. Contradict not, at every turn, what others say.
George Washington
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We do not play on Graves— Because there isn't Room— Besides—it isn't even—it slants And People come— And put a Flower on it— And hang their faces so— We're fearing that their Hearts will drop— And crush our pretty play— And so we move as far As Enemies—away— Just looking round to see how far It is—Occasionally—
Emily Dickinson
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There'll be plenty of time to rest in the grave.
Paul Erdos
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Ah, sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun, Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the youth pined away with desire And the pale virgin shrouded in snow Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my sunflower wishes to go.
William Blake
