I went on spouting bullshit Encouragements as Gus's parents, arm in arm, hugged each other and nodded at every word. Funerals, I had decided, are for the living.
Yeah, like, when I look back on my life, I just remember back what happened in '74, or something. It seems like only the real good stuff comes to mind. I don't think of all the tragedies and all the funerals. That just doesn't come to mind at all. I guess I'm really blessed that way.
Ceremony assists people to adjust to change (a marriage ceremony does this for families), to recognize achievement (a classic example is a graduation ceremony), to relate, to express love, and/or to establish a relationship. Ceremonies are the human way we have to signpost a deal such as a business merger, to trigger off a healthy grief process (such as in divorce or funeral ceremonies), to welcome another human being into the family. So Ceremonies have these excellent effects - they can be used further to announce intentions, to express loyalty and to reinforce a sense of identity.
So many of us have loved ones and people we really care about, and the only time we show affection is when they are gone. I have preached at funerals, and you see loved ones who didnt even say hello to dear ones when they were alive. Give them hugs, kisses while they are alive and need it.
Until the day of his death no man can be sure of his courage.
Funerals...are for the living.
I'm not allergic to fashion. I'm just one of those people who when they put on a suit look like they're going to a funeral or to court.
A funeral is for those left behind. Sometimes, one wonders if the weeping is more out of fear for ourselves than it is sympathy for the deceased.
A comedy ends with a wedding, and a tragedy ends with a funeral: you always have to juxtapose sex and death.
I hate funerals. They aren't for the guy who's dead. They're for the guys who are left alive and enjoy mourning.
I fall asleep in the full and certain hope That my slumber shall not be broken; And that, though I be all-forgetting, Yet shall I not be all-forgotten, But continue that life in the thoughts and deeds of those I have loved.
It's different when the person you love dies. There's an awful finality to death. But it is final. The end. And there's the funeral, family gatherings, grieving, all of those necessary rituals. And they help, believe me. When the object of your love just disappears, there's no way to deal with the grief and pain.
I want them to play Britney Spears at my funeral. This way I won't feel so bad about being dead, and everyone there will know there is something worse than Death.
You can't choreograph death, but you can choreograph your funeral.
The present is the funeral of the past, And man the living sepulchre of life.
Fame is an undertaker that pays but little attention to the living, but bedizens the dead, furnishes out their funerals, and follows them to the grave
Once again your mind explodes with a searing pain. A floodgate of memories bursts wide. Yet it is her face that keeps haunting you. Always her face. Who is she? Then things begin to crystallize. You remember your funeral. Begging and pleading for someone to release you from the darkness. You're not dead. You can't be. Then you feel her presence. Warm, caring, soothing. But somewhere deep inside she feels empty now. She has no reason. No meaning. No soul. But your soul lives. While her's is dying.
At Ken Lay's funeral service the minister compared him to Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior. The difference is Dr. King had a dream, Ken Lay had a scheme.
People get way too much credit at funerals.
When Malcolm X was assassinated I was working at the Apollo. They brought his body to the Unity Funeral Home, which was around the corner.
Don't go to the funeral until the day of the funeral - live this day.
At my age, I regard each funeral I attend as a personal triumph, because I was not the guest of honor.
Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing pine,the cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry, The builder oak, sole king of forests all, The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral, The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the fir that weepest still, The yew obedient to the bender's will, The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill, The myrrh sweet-bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike beech, the ash for nothing ill, The fruitful olive, and the platane round, The carver holm, the maple seldom inward sound.
My biggest blast-off hit was "You Raise Me Up." If you ever have a wedding or a funeral, it's a good pick.
No matter how great a man is, the size of his funeral usually depends on the weather.
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