Author: Epitaph Page 5

He Never Killed a Man That Did Not Need Killing

Epitaphs

Fate cuts the thread of life, as all men know, and Fate cut his, though he so well could sew. It matters not how fine the web is spun, ‘tis all unravelled when our course is run.

Epitaphs

This stone was raised by Frieda's Lord, not Frieda's virtues to record, for they are known to all the town. This stone was raised to keep her down.

Epitaphs

Here lies the body of Martha Dias, Who was always uneasy and not over pious, She liv'd to the age of threescore and ten, And gave that to the worms she refus'd to the men.

Epitaphs

Due to lack of ground in this cemetery, two bodies are buried in this one plot. One of them was a politician, the other was an honest man.

Epitaphs

Here lies Bryan Wilkinson – The doc said he'd be 'alright,’ Guess doc was all wrong

Epitaphs

Stop, reader, pray and read my gate. What caused my life to terminate. For thieves by night when in my bed Broke in my house and shot me dead.

Epitaphs

Here I lie, taken from life.

Epitaphs

… Dentist Brown – Is filling his last cavity.

Epitaphs

The winter snow congealed his form, but now we know our Uncle’s warm.

Epitaphs

Here lies Dave Jordan – His last words were a shame… 'There's a light at the end of the tunnel'… Unfortunately it was a train

Epitaphs

Robert Phillip, gravedigger: Here I lie at the Chancel door; Here lie I because I am poor; The farther in the more you pay; Here I lie as warm as they.

Epitaphs

Sleep soft in dust, wait the Almighty's will, then rise unchanged, and be an angel still.

Epitaphs

ASSMAN

Epitaphs

Here lies interred Priscilla Bird, who sang on earth till sixty two. Now up on high above the sky, no doubt she sings like sixty too.

Epitaphs

Here lies Groucho Marx and Lies and Lies and Lies

Epitaphs

Smart Humorous, Irreverent Tormented – Justin Arthur Frank, M.D. March 22, 1908 – January 20, 1986

Epitaphs

In Memory of Jacob, third son of Capt. Jacob Rice, died May 7, 1818 Et. 9 yrs. – His death was occasioned by the fall of a dung fork, one tine penetrating his brain.

Epitaphs

The death angel struck Alexander McGlue and gave him protracted repose; he wore a checked shirt and a No. 9 shoe And had a pink wart on his nose. No doubt he is happy a-dwelling in space over on the evergreen shore. His friends are informed that his funeral takes place at precisely a quarter past four.

Epitaphs

Paul Lennis Swank – Here under the dung of cows and sheep, lies an old highclimber fast asleep. His trees all topped and his lines all hung. They say the old rascal died full of rum.

Epitaphs

I've finally stopped getting dumber.

Epitaphs