Graveyard Quotes

Quotes tagged as "graveyard" Showing 1-30 of 93
H.L. Mencken
“Where is the graveyard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a time when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter today? And who of Huitzilopochtli? In one year - and it is no more than five hundred years ago - 50,000 youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him. Today, if he is remembered at all, it is only by some vagrant savage in the depths of the Mexican forest. Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried out with the sun.

When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with 10,000 gallons of human blood. But today Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Allen G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha and Wotan, he is now the peer of Richmond P. Hobson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler and Tom Sharkey.

Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother Tezcatlipoca. Tezcatlipoca was almost as powerful; he consumed 25,000 virgins a year.

Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quetzalcoatl is? Or Xiuhtecuhtli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Of Mictlan? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitl? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard-of Hell do they await their resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Caesar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Of that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jackass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods, but today even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them.

But they have company in oblivion: the Hell of dead gods is as crowded
as the Presbyterian Hell for babies. Damona is there, and Esus, and
Drunemeton, and Silvana, and Dervones, and Adsullata, and Deva, and
Bellisima, and Uxellimus, and Borvo, and Grannos, and Mogons. All mighty gods in their day, worshipped by millions, full of demands and impositions, able to bind and loose - all gods of the first class. Men labored for generations to build vast temples to them - temples with stones as large as hay-wagons.

The business of interpreting their whims occupied thousands of priests,
bishops, archbishops. To doubt them was to die, usually at the stake.
Armies took to the field to defend them against infidels; villages were burned, women and children butchered, cattle were driven off. Yet in the end they all withered and died, and today there is none so poor to do them reverence.

What has become of Sutekh, once the high god of the whole Nile Valley? What has become of:

All there were gods of the highest eminence. Many of them are mentioned with fear and trembling in the Old Testament. They ranked, five or six thousand years ago, with Yahweh Himself; the worst of them stood far higher than Thor. Yet they have all gone down the chute, and with them the following:

You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: You will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity-gods of civilized peoples-worshiped and believed in by millions. All were omnipotent, omniscient and immortal.

And all are dead.”
H.L. Mencken, A Mencken Chrestomathy

Robert  Beatty
“Our character isn’t defined by the battles we win or lose, but by the battles we dare to fight.”
Robert Beatty, Serafina and the Black Cloak

George Sterling
“Within its gates I heard the sound
Of winds in cypress caverns caught
Of huddling tress that moaned, and sought
To whisper what their roots had found.
(“A Dream of Fear”)”
George Sterling, The Thirst of Satan: Poems of Fantasy and Terror

Neil Gaiman
“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 the name on the stone is all too often impossible to read. If there is a statue on the grave it will be headless or so scabbed with fungus and lichens as to look like fungus itself. If one grave in a graveyard looks like a target for petty vandals, that is the ghoul-gate. If the grave wants to make you be somewhere else, that is the ghoul-gate.”
Neil Gaiman, The Graveyard Book

Tess Oliver
“Blasted grave marker. There sure are a bloody lot of them. They've got some nerve burying all these dead people here.”
Tess Oliver, Camille

John Gay
“My Own Epitaph
Life's a jest, and all things show it.
I thought so once, and now I know it.”
John Gay

Patrick Ness
“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 and it's short and lotsa New World people have lost the battle.

"It's a place for burying dead folk," I say.

Her eyes widen. "A place for doing what?"

"Don't people die in space?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says. "But we burn them. We don't put them in holes." She crosses her arms around herself, mouth and forehead frowning, peering around at the graves. "How can this be sanitary?”
Patrick Ness, The Knife of Never Letting Go

Lailah Gifty Akita
“Life is the only thing which can never be replaced when lost.”
Lailah Gifty Akita, Pearls of Wisdom: Great mind

David Baldacci
“She glanced around at the tombstones. “You’re surrounded by death here. Way too depressing. You really might want to think about getting another job.”
“You see death and sadness in these sunken patches of dirt, I see lives lived fully and the good deeds of past generations influencing the future ones.”
David Baldacci, The Collectors

Neil Gaiman
“There were dozens of stones of all sizes in the small meadow. Tall stones, bigger than either of the boys, and small ones, just the right size for sitting on. There were some broken stones. The Runt knew what sort of place this was, but it did not scare him. It was a loved place.”
Neil Gaiman, M Is for Magic

“Stop digging up the past, lay down your shovel, the past is dead.”
Bert McCoy

Ray Bradbury
“Mom? What do they do in the graveyard, Mom, under the ground? Just lay there?"
"Lie there."
"Lie there? Is that all they do? It doesn't sound like much fun."
"For goodness' sake, it's not made out to be fun."
"Why don't they jump up and run around once in a while if they get tired lying there? God's pretty silly--"
"Well, you'd think He'd treat people better than to tell them to lie still for keeps. That's impossible. Nobody can do it! I tried once. Dog tries. I tell him, 'dead Dog!' He plays dead awhile, then gets sick and tired and wags his tail or opens one eye and looks at me, bored. Boy, I bet sometimes those graveyard people do the same, huh, Dog?"
Dog barked.
"Be still with that kind of talk!" said Mother.
Martin looked off into space.
"Bet that's exactly what they do," he said.”
Ray Bradbury, The October Country

Chinua Achebe
“Orthodoxy whether of the right or of the left is the graveyard of creativity.”
Chinua Achebe

Lisa Kleypas
“The cart slowed as they came to a place so dark and quiet that it seemed as if they had entered some remote forest. Peeking beneath the hem of the cart's canvas covering, Garrett saw towering gates covered with ivy, and ghostly sculptures of angels, and solemn figures of men, women, and children with their arms crossed in resignation upon their breasts. Graveyard sculptures. A stab of horror went through her, and she crawled to the front of the cart to where West Ravenel was sitting with the driver.
"Where the devil are you taking us, Mr. Ravenel?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder, his brows raised. "I told you before- a private railway station."
"It looks like a cemetery."
"It's a cemetery station," he admitted. "With a dedicated line that runs funeral trains out to the burial grounds. It also happens to connect to the main lines and branches of the London Ironstone Railroad, owned by our mutual friend Tom Severin."
"You told Mr. Severin about all this? Dear God. Can we trust him?"
West grimaced slightly. "One never wants to be in the position of having to trust Severin," he admitted. "But he's the only one who could obtain clearances for a special train so quickly."
They approached a massive brick and stone building housing a railway platform. A ponderous stone sign adorned the top of the carriage entrance: Silent Gardens. Just below it, the shape of an open book emblazoned with words had been carved in the stone. Ad Meliora. "Toward better things," Garrett translated beneath her breath.”
Lisa Kleypas, Hello Stranger

Anurag Shrivastava
“I don't believe in these customs and rituals, as it's like manufacturing culture-fits on the graveyard of diversity. But then I haven't yet found any other alternative to this prevalent system, which doesn't have its fair share of drawbacks. So if following a custom means being courteous to someone, why not?”
Anurag Shrivastava, The Web of Karma

Israelmore Ayivor
“Ideas taken and planted into the grave do not germinate.”
Israelmore Ayivor, Become a Better You

Garth Risk Hallberg
“Amid them and amid the obdurate angels and the wildflowers pushing up through the earth, Richard could again be one among many.”
Garth Risk Hallberg, City on Fire

Jessica Marie Baumgartner
“No matter how many times I had been challenged with having to explain the worst aspects of life, it never got easier.”
Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Headstones

Gerri R. Gray
“For anyone who might be of the opinion that horror is strictly the domain of men, we graveyard girls are here to change your way of thinking—and to make you sleep with the lights on.”
Gerri R. Gray, Graveyard Girls

Akshay Vasu
“Every day I sit and watch random people holding the wands with the power that can turn the world either into a graveyard or into a paradise and yet roam around without believing in the magic that it possesses. And in the end, they throw it into the stash and burn it like it is nothing.”
Akshay Vasu, The Abandoned Paradise: Unraveling the beauty of untouched thoughts and dreams

“Graveyards last forever.”
Kee Sloan, Jabbok

Akshay Vasu
“The same pot that gave birth to the angels created the demons too. And eventually, there came a time where the differences between both races perished. What came out of the pot next shook the whole universe, and turned it into a graveyard of dreams.”
Akshay Vasu, The Abandoned Paradise: Unraveling the beauty of untouched thoughts and dreams

Steven Magee
“There is no shortage of dead people in graveyards that got there through blood clots.”
Steven Magee

“Keep away from wrongdoing!
When goodness is good it is truly good.
For justice is for eternity:
It enters the graveyard with its doer.
When he is buried and earth enfolds him.
His name does not pass from the earth;
He is remembered because of goodness,
That is the rule of god’s command.”
Miriam Lichtheim, Ancient Egyptian Literature, Volume I: The Old and Middle Kingdoms

“The awful truth is that the graveyard is every person’s final destiny.”
Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls

“The graveyard is not the final resting place of our dear departed but an ephemeral repository of their remains. The real graveyard, however, is somewhere deep in our heart, where we can always visit them at any time of the day, talk about some unforgettable summers, or cry in solitude as if they were always there for us to stay.”
Danny Castillones Sillada

Thomm Quackenbush
“I felt nothing standing there that I would not feel in any cemetery, quiet and curious and mortal.”
Thomm Quackenbush, Holidays with Bigfoot

Joyce Carol Oates
The master bedchamber at the top of a flight of badly worn and mossy stone steps, overlaid with grime, and the hard-dried excrement and remains of vermin—overlooking, from its single (barred) window, a marshy graveyard, the aged markers tilted and filthy from neglect, spiky grasses growing all around, and pools of brackish water interspersed among the graves.
Joyce Carol Oates, The Accursed

“I was accused of Mourning in the Graveyard!
Well the irony speaks for itself!”
Somya Kedia

Valentin Rasputin
“There's nothing left holy in the world for you. Herods!”
Valentin Rasputin, Farewell to Matyora

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