| Author |
Quotes |
| Alfred Austin | Here lies who, born a man, a grocer died |
| Charles Dibdin | For though his body's under hatches, His soul has gone aloft. |
| Charles Dibdin | His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft, Faithful, below, he did his duty; But now he's gone aloft. |
| Epitaph | A tomb now suffices him for whom the whole word was not sufficient. |
| Epitaph | Baths, wine and Venus bring decay to our bodies; but baths, wine and Venus make up life. |
| Epitaph | Beneath these green trees rising to the skies, The planter of them, Isaac Greentree, lies; The time shall come when these green trees shall fall, And Isaac Greentree rise above them all. |
| Epitaph | Ecce quod expendi habui, quod donavi habeo, quod negavi punior, quod servavi perdidi. |
| Epitaph | For the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, Do all the good you can, To all the people you can, In all the ways you can, As long as ever you can. |
| Henry Alford | Inn of a traveller on his way to Jerusalem. |
| John Dryden | This comes of altering fundamental laws and overpersuading by his landlord to take physic for the benefit of the doctor--Stavo bene ma per star meglio, sto qui. |
| Joseph Capen | Yet at the resurrection we shall see A fair edition, and of matchless worth, Free from erratas, new in heaven set forth. |
| Luigi Alamanni | Speme e Fortune, addio; che' in porto entrai. Schernite gli altri; ch'io vi spregio omai. |
| Matthew Arnold | If Paris that brief flight allow, My humble tomb explore! It bears: "Eternity, be thou My refuge!" and no more. |
| Quintus Ennius | May his body rest free from evil. |
| Robert Williams Buchanan | And the voice of men shall call, "He is fallen like us all, Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand:" And thine epitaph shall be-- "He was wretched ev'n as we;" And thy tomb may be unhonoured in the land. |
| Samuel Taylor Coleridge | Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there. |
| Thomas Carew | Loe here the precious dust is layd; Whose purely-temper'd clay was made So fine that it the guest betray'd. Else the soule grew so fast within, It broke the outward shall of sinne And so was hatch'd a cherubin. |
| Thomas Carlyle | This Mirabeau's work, then is done. He sleeps with the primeval giants. He has gone over to the majority: "Abiit ad plures." |
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