There is sorrow enough in the natural way From men and woman to fill our day; But when we are certain of sorrow in store, Why do we always arrange for more? Brothers & Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
A person who has never owned a dog has missed a wonderful part of life.
We had a dog, Apples. He was 13 years old, toothless, blind and had the worst breath this side of Jabba the Hut. But he was the sweetest dog, and I cried and cried when he died.
Shall we, because we walk on our hind feet, assume to ourselves only the privilege of imperishability?
Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away into the next room.
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them, Filling an emptiness we don't even know we have.
He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. Our dogs will love and admire the meanest of us, and feed our colossal vanity with their uncritical homage.
I guess you don't really own a dog, you rent them, and you have to be thankful that you had a long lease.
To call him a dog hardly seems to do him justice, though inasmuch as he had four legs, a tail, and barked, I admit he was, to all outward appearances. But to those who knew him well, he was a perfect gentleman.
A good dog never dies. He always stays. He walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near. His head is within our hand in his old way.
Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent.
A good dog never dies.
Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet.
A new dog never replaces an old dog, it merely expands the heart.
When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there, I did not die.
Death ends a life, not a relationship.
No man can fully understand the meaning of love unless he’s owned by a dog.
If I have any beliefs about immortality, it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven, and very, very few persons.
The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.
The bond with a dog is as lasting as the ties of this earth can ever be.
I came across a photograph of him not long ago... his black face, the long snout sniffing at something in the air, his tail straight and pointing, his eyes flashing in some momentary excitement. Looking at a faded photograph taken more than forty years before, even as a grown man, I would admit I still missed him.
God's finger touched him, and he slept.
Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.
The dog of your boyhood teaches you a great deal about friendship, and love, and death: Old Skip was my brother. They had buried him under our elm tree, they said-yet this wasn't totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.
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