Boy, when you are dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a god dam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you are dead? Nobody.
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We are not the worst moments of our lives.
Sister Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking.
We are not the worst moments of our lives.
Sister Helen Prejean, author of Dead Man Walking.
A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.
A man's dying is more the survivors' affair than his own.
The death-change comes.
Death is another life. We bow our heads
At going out, we think, and read more
The death-change comes.
Death is another life. We bow our heads
At going out, we think, and enter straight
Another golden chamber of the king's
Larger than this we leave, and lovelier.
And then in shadowy glimpses, disconnect,
The story, flower-like, closes thus its leaves.
The will of God is all in all. He makes,
Destroys, remakes, for His own pleasure, all.
Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before,
Advanced a stage or two upon that road
read more
Your lost friends are not dead, but gone before,
Advanced a stage or two upon that road
Which you must travel in the steps they trod.
So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts read more
So fades a summer cloud away;
So sinks the gale when storms are o'er;
So gently shuts the eye of day;
So dies a wave along the shore.
Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and read more
Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.
He that lives to forever, never fears dying.
He that lives to forever, never fears dying.
Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft read more
Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious
and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young
woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction.
Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him
good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child
with her cloth, cover thou him.
Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.
Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.
