When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.
And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.
Death cannot kill what never dies.
A great soul serves everyone all the time. A great soul never dies. It brings us together again and again.
A human life is a story told by God.
Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.
That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
With what a deep devotedness of woe I wept thy absence - o'er and o'er again Thinking of thee, still thee, till thought grew pain, And memory, like a drop that, night and day, Falls cold and ceaseless, wore my heart away!
Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days That are no more, and shall no more return. Thou hast but taken up thy lamp and gone to bed; I stay a little longer, as one stays To cover up the embers that still burn.
I stay a little longer, as one stays, to cover up the embers that still burn.
We understand death only after it has placed its hands on someone we love.
The light has gone out of my life.
Is death the last sleep? No, it is the last and final awakening.
He spoke well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey.
Wherever you are you will always be in my heart.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.
Grief is the price we pay for love.
In the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing.
What the caterpillar calls the end of the world the master calls a butterfly.
What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.
It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived.
For death is no more than a turning of us over from time to eternity.
He who has gone, so we but cherish his memory, abides with us, more potent, nay, more present than the living man.
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