Tomb Epitaph Quotes

A tomb now suffices him for whom the world was not enough. [Alexander's tombstone epitaph]

My life will end someday, but it will end at my convenience.

Epitaph, n. An inscription on a tomb, showing that virtues acquired by death have a retroactive effect.

EPITAPH OF JALALUDIN RUMI When we are dead, seek not our tomb in the earth, but find it in the hearts of men.

Si monumentum requiris circumspice (If you seek his monument, look around.) [Epitaph on Wren's tomb in St. Paul's Cathedral]

When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great Day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together

I ask no other epitaph on my tomb but "'SHE TRIED TO FOLLOW TRUTH.

When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow;

This is the epitaph I want on my tomb: Here lies one of the most intelligent animals who ever appeared on the face of the earth.

He also told me he'd just written the epitaph for his tomb: LO PEOR YA PASO. PEOR HUMILLACION QUE LA DE EXISTIR NO HAY. THE WORST IS BEHIND. THERE IS NO HUMILIATION WORSE THAN EXISTENCE

Science has never killed or persecuted a single person for doubting or denying its teaching, and most of these teaching have been true; but religion has murdered millions for doubting or denying her dogmas and most of these dogmas have been false. All stories about gods and devils, of heavens and hells, as they do not conform to nature, and are not apparent to sense, should be rejected without consideration. Beyond the universe there is nothing and within the universe the supernatural does not and cannot exist. Of all deceivers who have plagued mankind, none are so deeply ruinous to human happiness as those imposters who pretend to lead by a light above nature. The lips of the dead are closed forever. There comes no voice from the tomb. Christianity is responsible for having cast the fable of eternal fire over almost every grave.

Harris wanted to get out at Hampton Church, to go and see Mrs. Thomas’s tomb. “Who is Mrs. Thomas?” I asked. “How should I know?” replied Harris.  “She’s a lady that’s got a funny tomb, and I want to see it.” I objected.  I don’t know whether it is that I am built wrong, but I never did seem to hanker after tombstones myself.  I know that the proper thing to do, when you get to a village or town, is to rush off to the churchyard, and enjoy the graves; but it is a recreation that I always deny myself.  I take no interest in creeping round dim and chilly churches behind wheezy old men, and reading epitaphs.  Not even the sight of a bit of cracked brass let into a stone affords me what I call real happiness.

Epitaph to a Dog[4]Edit Near this Spot are deposited the Remains of one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the virtues of Man without his Vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery if inscribed over human Ashes, is but a just tribute to the Memory of Boatswain, a Dog who was born in Newfoundland May 1803 and died at Newstead Nov. 18th, 1808 When some proud Son of Man returns to Earth, Unknown to Glory, but upheld by Birth, The sculptor’s art exhausts the pomp of woe, And storied urns record who rests below. When all is done, upon the Tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what he should have been. But the poor Dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still his Master’s own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the Soul he held on earth – While man, vain insect! hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour, Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power – Who knows thee well, must quit thee with disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat, Thy tongue hypocrisy, thy heart deceit! By nature vile, ennobled but by name, Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. Ye, who behold perchance this simple urn, Pass on – it honours none you wish to mourn. To mark a friend’s remains these stones arise; I never knew but one -- and here he lies.

Amidst these barbed tales of old Managua, I remembered another instance in which Cardenal had adapted an old poem to a new purpose. He had drafted a poem about the death of Sandino, and the fact that his grave was unknown. Then, in 1954, an attempt to capture Anastasio Somoza García, the then dictator, ended in failure. One of the conspirators, Pablo de Leal, had his tongue cut out before being killed. It is said that another, Adolfo Báez Bone, was castrated. The main torturer was Anastasio Somoza Debayle, who would be the last dictator of the line. When Cardenal heard the news, he decided to make Báez Bone the subject of his poem instead of Sandino: Epitaph for the Tomb of Adolfo Báez Bone They killed you and didn’t say where they buried your body, but since then the entire country has been your tomb, and in every inch of Nicaragua where your body isn’t buried, you were reborn. They thought they’d killed you with their order of Fire! They thought they’d buried you and all they had done was to bury a seed.

Go ahead then!’ she cried. ‘Look at it. You won’t be able to read it even if you tried. I dropped it in the bath last night.’ Tranquillus took the tablet and opened it and frowned. Then his eyes grew wide as he read: ‘Give me a thousand kisses, Flavia, then another hundred, then a thousand, then a second hundred, then a thousand more—’ ‘It does not say that!’ Flavia snatched the tablet back. ‘You’re just quoting Catullus.’ She eagerly examined the two inner leaves of the tablet, but they were perfectly blank. ‘You’re disappointed!’ cried Tranquillus triumphantly. ‘You actually thought he wrote that.’ Then his smile faded. ‘You love him, don’t you, Flavia? You love Flaccus?’ ‘No I don’t!’ Tranquillus looked at her friends. ‘She loves Flaccus, doesn’t she?’ Aristo and Lupus both shrugged their shoulders and Nubia looked down at her lap. ‘No, I don’t,’ repeated Flavia, biting her lower lip. ‘Of course I don’t!’ ‘If you say so,’ said Tranquillus. He looked away. Flavia turned her head too, and looked out the back of the carruca at the passing tombs. And for some reason the Greek epitaph came to mind: Eat, drink, be merry and make love; all below here is darkness.

I am the tomb of a drowned sailor. Sail on. Even while we sank, the others sped away.

Who upholds that the good is oft interred with our bones. ’Tisn’t true though it is Shakspeare who says it; if you leave your family or your pet hospital a good many thousands, you will get the cardinal virtues, and a trifle more, in letters of gold on your tomb; though if you have lived up to your income, or forgotten to insure, any penny-alining La Monnoye will do to scribble your epitaph, and break off with “C’est trop mentir pour cinq écus!

I will become an eternal epitaph. Your memory shall survive for eternity, within a crystal tomb. This shall be my legacy and my atonement. But most of all... my final hope.

The Marble Tombs that rise on high, Whose Dead in vaulted Arches lye, Whose Pillars swell with sculptur'd Stones, Arms, Angels Epitaphs and Bones, These (all the poor Remains of State) Adorn the Rich, or praise the Great; Who while on Earth in Fame they live, Are senseless of the Fame they give.

Zamore may say within his tomb, as says the Greek dancer in her epitaph: “Earth, rest lightly on me, for I rested lightly on thee.

He that looks for urns and old sepulchral relicks, must not seek them in the ruins of temples, where no religion anciently placed them. These were found in a field, according to ancient custom, in noble or private burial; the old practice of the Canaanites, the family of Abraham, and the burying-place of Joshua, in the borders of his possessions; and also agreeable unto Roman practice to bury by highways, whereby their monuments were under eye:--memorials of themselves, and mementoes of mortality unto living passengers; whom the epitaphs of great ones were fain to beg to stay and look upon them,--a language though sometimes used, not so proper in church inscriptions.

the simplest, least adorned space within the crypt or indeed the entire church. A raised white marble platform, ankle-high, on which lies a slab of gray granite with a surround of rose-colored marble. The granite is engraved with Gaudí’s epitaph. The slab lies perpendicular to a wall of large limestone blocks. On each side of the wall are two similar walls joined at oblique angles, drawing the eye to the grave. Low to the ground is a ribbonlike surround of wrought iron rails designed to hold votive candles, now bare. Instead, a single row of red candles burn brightly at the foot of the tomb. Above it, on a small pedestal, is a graceful statue of the Virgin Mary, holding the infant Jesus. Against the limestone walls, four pedestaled columns rise to the apex of the crypt, framing three tall arches that poke into the apse above.