Sad Cypress Quotes

When I Am Dead, My Dearest When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress-tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.

The human face is, after all, nothing more nor less than a mask.

Ah, but life is like that! It does not permit you to arrange and order it as you will. It will not permit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, 'I will feel so much and no more.' Life, Mr. Welman, whatever else it is, is not reasonable. [Hercule Poirot]

To care passionately for another human creature brings always more sorrow than joy; but at the same time, Elinor, one would not be without experience. Anyone who has never really loved has never really lived..

Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death no one so true did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strewn: Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me O where Sad true lover never find my grave, to weep there!

I find most of the human race extraordinarily repulsive. They probably reciprocate this feeling.

When you're in the middle of a nightmare, something ordinary is the only hope. Anyway, ordinary things are the best. I've always thought so.

The point is that one's got an instinct to live. One does not live because one's reason assents to living. People who, as we say, 'would be better dead,' don’t want to die! People who apparently have got everything to live for just let themselves fade out of life because they have not got the energy to fight.

Why harrow oneself by looking on the worst side?... Because it is sometimes necessary.

You weren't quite accurate just now." "I? Not accurate?" Poirot sounded affronted.

Everything costs so much—clothes and one’s face—and just silly things like cinemas and cocktails—and even gramophone records!’ Roddy

A little difficult to know where you were with Elinor. She didn't reveal much of what she thought and felt about things. He liked that about her. He hated people who reeled off their thoughts and feelings to you, who took it for granted that you wanted to know all their mechanism. Reserve was always more interesting.

Life, [...], whatever else it is, is not reasonable.

Are you ready, sir? Orsino. Ay; prithee, sing. [Music] 945 SONG. Feste. Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 950 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet 955 On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where 960 Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there! Orsino. There's for thy pains. Feste. No pains, sir: I take pleasure in singing, sir. Orsino. I'll pay thy pleasure then. 965 Feste. Truly, sir, and pleasure will be paid, one time or another.

.... she was like a flower. And suddenly, for a vivid minute, Hercule Poirot had a new conception of the dead girl. In that halting rustic voice the girl Mary lived and bloomed again. "She was like a flower." There was suddenly a poignant sense of loss, of something exquisite destroyed. In his mind phrase after phrase succeeded each other. Peter Lord's "She was a nice kid." Nurse Hopkins's "She could have gone on the films any time." Mrs. Bishop's venomous "No patience with her airs and graces." And now last, putting to shame, laying aside those other views, the quiet, wondering, "She was like a flower.

It is not for me to run here and there, doing amateurishly the things that for a small sum someone else can do with professional skill.

Not at all. She condemned herself―because she judged herself by a more exacting standard that ordinary humanity applies!

Cast down by sadness, I walked far into the mountains where the cypresses grew so pointed one would have taken them for arms, where the brambles had thorns as big as claws.

Đôi khi có một vực thẳm ngăn cách quá khứ và tương lai. Khi người ta đã bước đi trong thung lũng của bóng tối tử thần rồi thoát ra khỏi, vào trong ánh sáng, đó là một cuộc sống mới bắt đầu. Quá khứ sẽ chẳng giúp ích gì nữa.

A volte si apre un abisso fra il passato e il futuro. Quando una persona si è incamminata nella valle all'ombra della morte, e ne torna fuori alla luce del sole...è allora, mon cher, che comincia una nuova vita. Il passato non serve più.

المغزى هو أن لدى المرء غريزة للعيش. لا يعيش المرء لأن عقله وافق على الحياة. إن من نقول عنهم:"إن من الأفضل لهم أن يموتوا" لا يريدون الموت،وأولئك الذين يمتلكون-ظاهرياً-كل ما يمكن أن يُعاش لأجله نراهم يتركون أنفسهم يذبلون حتى الموت لأنهم يفتقرون إلى طاقة الكفاح والمقاومة.

Song When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree: Be the green grass above me With showers and dewdrops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain; I shall not hear the nightingale Sing on, as if in pain: And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. Sir Thomas Wyatt has been credited with introducing the Petrarchan sonnet into the English language. Wyatt's father had been one of Henry VII's Privy Councilors and remained a trusted adviser when Henry VIII came to the throne in 1509. Wyatt followed his father to court, but it seems the young poet may have fallen in love with the king’s mistress, Anne Boleyn. Their acquaintance is certain, although whether or not the two actually shared a romantic relationship remains unknown. But in his poetry, Wyatt called his mistress Anna and there do seem to be correspondences. For instance, this poem might well have been written about the King’s claim on Anne Boleyn:

Un pò difficile capire come stavano le cose quando c'era di mezzo Elinor. In realtà non rivelava mai molto di ciò che pensava o sentiva. E questo gli piaceva in lei. Perché detestava le persone che vuotavano il sacco, e rivelavano subito le proprie opinioni o manifestavano i propri sentimenti...le persone che davano praticamente per scontato che l'interlocutore desiderasse sapere com'era articolato il loro meccanismo interiore. Il riserbo era sempre stato più interessante.

Peter Lord said: “Oh, well, I suppose she and Roderick Welman will live happy ever afterwards.” Hercule Poirot said: “My dear friend, you suppose nothing of the sort!” “Why not? She’ll forgive him the Mary Gerrard business. It was only a wild infatuation on his part, anyway.” Hercule Poirot said: 'It goes deeper than that… There is, sometimes, a deep chasm between the past and the future. When one has walked in the valley of the shadow of death, and come out of it into the sunshine—then, mon cher, it is a new life that begins… The past will not serve….” He waited a minute and then went on: “A new life… That is what Elinor Carlisle is beginning now—and it is you who have given her that life.” “No.” “Yes. It was your determination, your arrogant insistence that compelled me to do as you asked. Admit now, it is to you she turns in gratitude, is it not?” Peter Lord said slowly: “Yes, she’s very grateful—now… She asked me to go and see her—often.” “Yes, she needs you.” Peter Lord said violently: “Not as she needs—him!” Hercule Poirot shook his head. “She never needed Roderick Welman. She loved him, yes, unhappily—even desperately.” Peter Lord, his face set and grim, said harshly: “She will never love me like that.” Hercule Poirot said softly: “Perhaps not. But she needs you, my friend, because it is only with you that she can begin the world again.

إنه لمن السخف أن يستطيع رجل, رجل عادي, بل عادي تماماً, أن يفعل ذلك بامرأة! من السخف أن يكون من شأن نظرته وحدها أن تجعل العالم يدور, وأن يكون من شأن صوته وحده أن يجعل المرء يرغب قليلاً بالبكاء! من لمؤكد أن الحب ينبغي أن يكون عاطفة سارّة مفرحة, لا عاطفة تؤلم لشدّة تركيزها.

His mind usually did shy away from any concrete unpleasantness.

I can always do with a cup of tea. I always say there’s nothing like a nice cup of tea—a strong cup!

The human face is, after all, nothing more nor less than a mask.

The Hercule Poirot Reading List It is possible to read the Poirot stories in any order. If you want to consider them chronologically (in terms of Poirot’s lifetime), we recommend the following: ❑ The Mysterious Affair at Styles [1920] ❑ The Murder on the Links [1923] ❑ The Regatta Mystery and Other Stories (US Short Story Collection) [1939] ❑ Poirot Investigates (Short Story Collection) [1924] ❑ Poirot’s Early Cases (Short Story Collection) [1974] ❑ The Murder of Roger Ackroyd [1926] ❑ The Big Four [1927] ❑ The Mystery of the Blue Train [1928] ❑ Peril at End House [1932] ❑ Lord Edgware Dies [1933] ❑ Murder on the Orient Express [1934] ❑ Three Act Tragedy [1935] ❑ Death in the Clouds [1935] ❑ Poirot and the Regatta Mystery (Published in The Complete Short Stories: Hercule Poirot) [1936] ❑ The ABC Murders [1936] ❑ Murder in Mesopotamia [1936] ❑ Cards on the Table [1936] ❑ The Witness for the Prosecution and Other Stories (US Short Story Collection) [1948] ❑ Murder in the Mews (Short Story Collection) [1938] ❑ Dumb Witness [1937] ❑ Death on the Nile [1937] ❑ Appointment with Death [1937] ❑ Hercule Poirot’s Christmas [1938] ❑ Sad Cypress [1940] ❑ One, Two Buckle My Shoe [1940] ❑ Evil Under the Sun [1941] ❑ Five Little Pigs [1942] ❑ The Hollow [1946] ❑ The Labours of Hercules (Short Story Collection) [1947] ❑ Taken at the Flood [1945] ❑ Mrs. McGinty’s Dead [1952] ❑ After the Funeral [1953] ❑ Hickory Dickory Dock [1955] ❑ Hercule Poirot and the Greenshore Folly [2014] ❑ Dead Man’s Folly [1956] ❑ Cat Among the Pigeons [1959] ❑ Double Sin and Other Stories (US Short Story Collection) [1961] ❑ The Under Dog and Other Stories (US Short Story Collection) [1951] ❑ The Harlequin Tea Set and Other Stories (US Short Story Collection) [1997] ❑ The Clocks [1963] ❑ Third Girl [1966] ❑ Hallowe’en Party [1969] ❑ Elephants Can Remember [1972] ❑ Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case [1975]

What can you do, M. Poirot?" Poirot said: "I can search for the truth.

But the newspapers, they are so inaccurate, I never go by what they say.

When you're in the middle of a nightmare, something ordinary is the only hope.

In the awesome majesty of Mrs. Bishop’s black-clad presence Hercule Poirot sat humbly insignificant.

Come away, come away, Death. And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath, I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

sad-faced mourners, who each day are wending Through churchyard paths of cypress and of yew, Leave for today the low graves you are tending, And lift your eyes to God’s eternal blue! It is no time for bitterness or sadness; Choose Easter lilies, not pale asphodels; Let your souls thrill to the caress of gladness, And answer the sweet chime of Easter bells. If Christ were still within the grave’s low prison, A captive of the Enemy we dread; If from that rotting cell He had not risen, Who then could dry the gloomy tears you shed? If Christ were dead there would be need to sorrow, But He has risen and vanquished death today; Hush, then your sighs, if only till tomorrow, At Easter give your grief a holiday. May Riley Smith

Not that Seddon gives me much confidence. He’s so confoundedly gloomy.’ ‘It is a habit, that, of lawyers.

Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought Never to wake thy silent strings again, A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought, And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, Into the poet's Heaven, and leaves dull grief below

بغضّ النظر عن الطرف الذى يقف فيه المرء فإن عليه مواجهة الحقائق!

There may be a certain measure of happiness in a home without Christ, but it lacks something at best, and then when sorrow comes, and the sun of earthly joy is darkened, there are no lamps of heavenly comfort to lighten the darkness. Sad indeed is the Christless home, when a beloved one lies dead within its doors. No words of Christian comfort have any power to console, because there is no faith to receive them. No stars shine through their cypress-trees. But how different it is in the Christian home, in like sorrow! The grief is just as sore, but the truth of immortality sheds holy light on the darkness, and there is a deep joy which transfigures the sorrow.

Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let her be laid. Fly away, fly away, breath; She is slain by grief that doth not fade. Her shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it! Her part of death, no one so true Did share it

It is eerie and uncanny how Luca has the ability to read my mind. “Will you go back now to London, Violetta?” he asks, his black brows lifting, his expression concerned. “Italia has not been good to you. Maybe you think you should go home, where these bad things do not happen.” “Do you want me to go?” I ask, feeling very insecure. I couldn’t blame him, I realize with huge sadness. We’re in a real mess. Perhaps the best thing would be for me to go away and never come back. Luca’s lips tighten into a hard line. Slowly, he shakes his head. “It’s hard to know what’s best,” he says. “But I do not want you to go.” “I don’t want to go either,” I say in a whisper. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out again. We stand there silent, because we don’t know what more to say. I realize that shadows are stretching across the terrace. The air is milder, an evening breeze blowing softly. There’s a rustling sound from the cypress trees in the garden below, and we look over to see the first few bats emerging from the branches, circling slowly in the darkening sky. I think we’re both grateful to have something else to concentrate on. We walk across the terrace and lean on the stone balustrade, elbows almost but not quite touching. And we watch the black shapes rise and fall, the red streaks of sunset fading from the sky, and a clear white curve of moon rising slowly behind the dark silhouettes of the trees.

Tak bisakah kau menerima fakta-fakta? Dia mencintai Roderick Welman. Tapi apakah artinya itu? Dengan kau, dia bisa berbahagia....