Funeral Attire Quotes

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.

You'll never get me into a tux. Not until I'm dead and I have no choice because that's what the undertaker put me in.

Nudity is the costume of lovers and corpses.

I wish to be put away in a western dress I designed, with my daughter's little gold cross necklace and my son's small white testament in my hands, and my wedding band on.

So it’s your death suit.” “Correct. Don’t you have a death outfit?” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a dress I bought for my fifteenth birthday party. But I don’t wear it on dates.” His eyes lit up. “We’re on a date?” he asked. I looked down, feeling bashful. “Don’t push it.

I grew up in the suburbs of a small town on the south coast where the only opportunity I ever got to wear anything smart was a funeral, so I had never owned a piece of clothing worth more than £40.

All my friends are dying. That's why I always wear black.

I want to be buried in a Valentino gown and I want Harry Winston to make me a toe tag.

Everyone has to go to a funeral at some time and you need to be dark and sombre, and in a black tie.

If you're dressed for my funeral, it's too casual. If it's just street clothes, then you must be scaring the tourists.

I like a bit of color myself, I must say. At my time of life, if you wear nothing but black, people might think you were too mean to change frocks between funerals.

Adrian opened his mouth, undoubtedly ready with some inappropriate and mocking comment. Lissa gave him a sharp headshake that kept him quiet. "Aren't there any, I don't know, sleeveless options?" The saleswoman's eyes widened. "No one has ever worn straps to a funeral. It wouldn't be right." "What about shorts?" asked Adrian. "Are they okay if they're with a tie? Because that's what I was gonna go with." The woman looked horrified.

His pear-shaped head, I could now see, was situated on top of a pear-shaped body, which his black gown caused to resemble a piece of fruit going to a funeral.

Black was not the universal hue of mourning in Europe. In Castile, white obtained on the death of its princes.

Worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral.

Tombs are the clothes of the dead and a grave is a plain suit; while an expensive monument is one with embroidery.

I wonder why bereaved people even bother with mourning clothes when the grief itself provides such an unmistakable wardrobe.