Surely with as good reason as had Archimedes to have the cylinder, cone and sphere engraved on his tombstone might our distinguished countrymen leave testamentary directions for the cubic eikosiheptagram to be engraved on theirs. Spirit of the Universe! wither are we drifting, and when, where, and how is all this to end?
I sometimes joke that when I die, my tombstone will say, 'Here lies the guy who hired Jonathan Ive,'
When I was younger, I loved graveyards. They weren't spooky so much as mysterious. Each tombstone another story to uncover. Another life to learn about. Now that I'm older - I won't say how old - I hate graveyards. The only life - or rather death - I see in the tombstones is my own.
I know what I'm having 'em put on my tombstone: 'I have nothing more to say'.
If a man needs an elaborate tombstone in order to remain in the memory of his country, it is clear that his living at all was an act of absolute superfluity.
The Man of a Thousand Voices
In case my life should end with the cannibals, I hope they will write on my tombstone, 'We have eaten Dr. Schweitzer. He was good to the end. '
A thousand times over, the death knell of the Bible has been sounded, the funeral procession formed, the inscription cut on the tombstone, and committal read. But somehow the corpse never stays put.
On my tombstone just write, 'The sorest loser that ever lived. '
"The Entertainer" He did it all.
Many years ago I sent an old, beloved jacket to a cleaner, the Sycamore Cleaners. It was a leather jacket covered in Guinness and blood and marmalade, one of those jobs. . . and it came back with a little note pinned to it, and on the note it said, 'It distresses us to return work which is not perfect. ' So that will do for me. That can go on my tombstone.
I loved Stand By Me. I loved Tombstone. Give men a little credit. Maybe we'll be able to humanize women more and see more of their depth as people.
She did it the hard way.
Bah, tombstones are only good for pigeons to sit on
The old dead trees are the most fascinating - the countless trees lying in the gullies and up the hills that fell perhaps a century ago, pulling up their roots from the earth as they toppled. The great upheavals left rocks in their huge tentacles and, as they slowly rot, the trunks are home to populations of creatures, from goannas to wild pigs. As grey as tombstones in a cemetery they lie there, having outlasted generations of farmers, as they'll outlast me. In their own way they are as beautiful, more beautiful, than living trees.
I want my tombstone to read: If this is a joke, I don't get it.
My tombstone would someday read I died keeled over at my computer writing a screenplay or a business plan.
Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted.
With God in the Joy of Beauty and Youth
I cannot feel my legs from the waist down any longer. But who cares? I look good and that's all that matters. And when I die of hypothermia for wearing formal shorts in winter, tell them to put that on my tombstone.
