#epitaph

I have somewhere met with the epitaph on a charitable man which has pleased me very much. I cannot recollect the words, but here is the sense of it: "What I spent I lost; what I possessed is left to others; what I gave away remains with me." ↗

— Joseph Addison

#away #cannot #charitable #epitaph #gave

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. ↗

— a headstone in Ireland

#epitaph #mourning #death

It's not an epitaph. I felt I could look back at my life and get a good story out of it. It's a picture of somebody trying to figure things out. I'm not trying to create some impression about myself. That doesn't interest me. ↗

— Alan Alda

#back #could #create #epitaph #felt

Epitaph for a dead waiter - God finally caught his eye. ↗

— George S. Kaufman

#dead #epitaph #eye #finally #god

I never understood why when you died, you didn't just vanish, everything could just keep going on the way it was only you just wouldn't be there. I always thought I'd like my own tombstone to be blank. No epitaph, and no name. Well, actually, I'd like it to say 'figment.' ↗

— Andy Warhol

#always #blank #could #died #epitaph

Live so that when the final summons comes you will leave something more behind you than an epitaph on a tombstone or an obituary in a newspaper. ↗

— Billy Sunday

#comes #epitaph #final #leave #live

Live your epitaph ↗

— Zoe Weil

#education #epitaph #humane #introspective #live

It's been such a deep and amazing journey for me, getting close to John Keats, and also I love Shelley and Byron. I mean, the thing about the Romantic poets is that they've got the epitaph of romantic posthumously. They all died really young, and Keats, the youngest of them all. ↗

— Jane Campion

#also #amazing #been #byron #close

As Master Nathaniel jogged leisurely along his thoughts turned to the Farmer Gibberty, who many a time must have jogged along this path, in just such a way, and seen and heard the very same things that he was seeing and hearing now. Yes, the Farmer Gibberty had once been a real living man, like himself. And so had millions of others, whose names he had never heard. And one day he himself would be a prisoner, confined between the walls of other people's memory. And then he would cease even to be that, and become nothing but a few words cut in stone. What would these words be, he wondered. ↗

— Hope Mirrlees

#epitaphs #nathaniel-chanticleer #death

Death Notice, ...... “He was offended with his wife, and went and hanged himself.” 10 Jun 1817 ↗

— Boston Recorder

#epitaph #death