Theophile Gautier Quotes

In the end, all you want is someone to long for you when it comes time to put you in the ground.

Death, vicious death, Leave a green branch for love.

It's too late to fall in love with Sharon Tate / But it's too soon to ask me for the words I want carved on my tomb.

At death our friends and relatives either draw nearer to us and are found out, or depart farther from us and are forgotten. Friends are as often brought nearer together as separated by death.

We have only a little time to please the living. But all eternity to love the dead.

The body is the one thing you have to say goodbye to. You can hold on to your memories. You can hold on to the spirit. That's part of the package that you love and the part that comforts you.

When I die Dublin will be written in my heart.

The paradox is, I can't miss the good things about my father while he is alive, but I will of course miss him... when he is dead.

Dad, wherever you are, you are gone but you will never be forgotten.

Love and memory last and will so endure till the game is called because of darkness.

There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them,' my mother explained shortly before she left me. 'If you can remember me, I will be with you always.

I can feel his presence here in every stone he has touched, every person he has lifted up, every street and alley and city that he has changed in the few years of his life, because he is the Republic, he is our light, and I love you, I love you, until the day we meet again I will hold you in my heart and protect you there, grieving what we never had, cherishing what we did. I wish you were here. I love you, always.

The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.

Tell me the truth about death. I don't know what it is. We have them, then they are gone but they stay in our minds. Their stories are part of us as long as we live and as long as we tell them or write them down.

When all our tears have reached the sea, part of you will live in me.

They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished; and left, as its young beauty fled, an ashen memory in its stead.

But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

Nothing is stronger than the position of the dead among the living.

People do not die for us immediately, but remain bathed in a sort of aura of life which bears no relation to true immortality but through which they continue to occupy our thoughts in the same way as when they were alive. It is as though they were traveling abroad.

Love lives on, and hath a power to bless when they who loved are hidden in the grave.

Impossible not to imagine the dead observing us. Our love for them a soft, shimmering gossamar that trails behind us.

You are never truly together with one you love until the person in question is dead and actually inside you.

Those we love don't go away, they sit beside us every day.

Love seems to survive life, and to reach beyond it. I think we take it with us past the grave. Do we not still give it to those who have left us? May we not hope that they feel it for us, and that we shall leave it here in one or two fond bosoms, when we also are gone?

Those who are gone, you have. Those who departed loving you, love you still; and you love them always. They are not really gone, those dear hearts and true; they are only gone into the next room; and you will presently get up and follow them, and yonder door will close upon you, and you will be no more seen.