Bury The Bones Quotes & Sayings

I suspect if we were as familiar with our bones as with our skin, we'd never bury dead but shrine them in their rooms, arranged as we might like to find them on a visit; and our enemies, if we could steal their bodies from the battle sites, would be museumed as they died, the steel still eloquent in their sides, their metal hats askew, the protective toes of their shoes unworn, and friend and enemy would be so wondrously historical that in a hundred years we'd find the jaws still hung for the same speech and all the parts we spent our life with titled as they always were - rib cage, collar, skull - still repetitious, still defiant, angel light, still worthy of memorial and affection. After all, what does it mean to say that when our cat has bitten through the shell and put confusion in the pulp, the life goes out of them? Alas for us, I want to cry, our bones are secret, showing last, so we must love what perishes: the muscles and the waters and the fats. — William H Gass

Mentoring, for some, is going back in time, sharing experiences and providing professional insight that has been learned through years of experience — Anonymous

Fear of men's judgment manifests itself in competition for men's approval. — Ezra Taft Benson

Buried him next to my cabin door, in that sunken, blissful spot where he had napped, always waiting for the next hunt: beneath the wild rose bushes. I buried him, as I had Ann, with bones and antlers and venison and dog food and a wreath of cedar and lupine. I buried him with shells, both 12- and 20-gauge, for whenever we went hunting again, and I put in extras because I knew I'd miss some shots. The bones and wings of his quarry. A whistle, a brass bell. Then the earth back in over him, and new grief in over old grief, like a mountain eroding to bury with its disintegrating sediments, disintegrating heart and body, something bright and valuable below. — Rick Bass

Bury me and I'll thrive as countless insects.
I bend neither to your weapon nor will.
Even as you trample upon my bones I cower not under your soulless tread, or fear your shadow casting upon my grave. — Vaddey Ratner

What was unspoken between us, what need never be explained or said, was that nobody would ever love us again like our mothers did. Yes, we would be loved, by our fathers, our friends, our siblings, our aunts and uncles and grandparents and spouses
and our children if we chose to have them
but never would we experience that kind of unconditional, nothing-you-can-do-will-turn-me-away-from-you kind of mother love. — Melanie Gideon

One of those chaps would make short work of a fellow. Pick the bones clean no matter who it was. Ordinary meat for them. A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what's cheese? Corpse of milk. I read in that Voyages in China that the Chinese say a white man smells like a corpse. Cremation better. Priests dead against it. Devilling for the other firm. Wholesale burners and Dutch oven dealers. Time of the plague. Quicklime feverpits to eat them. Lethal chamber. Ashes to ashes. Or bury at sea. Where is that Parsee tower of silence? Eaten by birds. Earth, fire, water. Drowning they say is the pleasantest. See your whole life in a flash. But being brought back to life no. Can't bury in the air however. Out of a flying machine. Wonder — James Joyce

Why didn't evolution make a giraffe good at carpentry so it could build a ladder? — Karl Pilkington

Dogs display reluctance and wrath If you try to give them a bath. They bury bones in hideaways And half the time they trot sideaways. — Ogden Nash

Unfurl your muscles. Slip off your skin. Drop your guts in a heap on the floor."
I felt my airway constrict. Damn, this was profound. I continued. "Nuzzle inside the hollow of my bones. Let our breaths mingle as one. Turn liquid for me. Only for me. Bury your essence inside of my soul. — Christina Lee

Hey!' I called with an annoyed voice. 'Charles!'
The little Pteradactyl looked up. 'Ah, my good friend!'
'What about the chaos?' I demanded.
'Done!' Charles said.
'We each moved six books out of their proper places,' called George the Stegosaurus. 'It will take them days to find them all and put them back.'
'Though we did put them into place backward,' Charles said. 'You know, so they could be seen more easily. We wouldn't want it to be too hard.'
'Too hard?' I asked, stupefied. 'Charles, these are the people who were going to kill you and bury your bones in an archaeological dig!'
'Well, that's no reason to be uncivilized!' Charles said. — Brandon Sanderson

Q: Bury deep, Pile on stones, Yet I will Dig up the bones. What am I? A: Memories - A FOLK RIDDLE — Jennifer McMahon

You know something? There are sandstorms that strip man and horse and bury them - I've seen them. I saw bones piled higher than my head for the folly of a bad king and those who wanted his throne. I lived through a blizzard that froze every other living creature solid. Against those things, you're only a man. I can deal with you. — Tamora Pierce

This was Miss Blanche's daughter? She was a mess. A beautiful mess. — Rachel Hauck

Some folklorists just collected dead bones from one graveyard, only to bury them in another, their library. — Pete Seeger

People idealise their animals, and at the same time they patronisingly overlook a dog's natural life - biting fleas, burying bones, rolling in garbage, barking up an empty tree all night ... But what do they do themselves? Bury stuff that will rot in secret and then dig it up and bury it again and rant and rave under empty trees! — Tove Jansson

When I vacate this sack of old bones I won't care what you do with it. Bury or burn it but don't make much fuss. — Wilbur Smith

I wanted to kill them. No, not kill. "Kill" is too dull a word for that which I desired. I wanted to annihilate them. I wanted to tear them limb from limb. I wanted to crack their bones and bury my face in the wet remains. I wanted to reach inside their chests and yank out their hearts and devour the bloody meat as the last stray current twitched the muscle and watch their faces as they died. — Justin Cronin

But we will not bury our mother. We have no interest in putting her bones in soft ground, no desire for memorials and platitudes, no feelings attached to the organic detritus of her terminated existence. — JY Yang

Breaking from the universe,
like waves spilling, plunging and surging
against a shore,
we crash with life and vigor,
scrape and scour,
spit beaches and eat land,
polish stone, glass and driftwood of splintered dreams,
uncover and bury bleached bones
of ambitions and aspirations,
carve grottoes of intentions and regrets
and then slip back into the deep
from whence we came
and may return again. — Jeffrey A. White

. . . my bones they'll burn or bury. It'll be my death. — Jenny Downham

In our memories, there is a graveyard where we bury our dead. They all lie there together, the loved ones and the ones we hated, friends and foes and kin, with no distinction among them. We have to mourn every one of them, because our memories have made them as much a part of us as our bones or our skin. If we don't, we've no right to remember anything at all. — Steven Brust

Don't accuse me of being morbid when I'm merely the product of a culture that buries the bones of the ones they love in pretty, manicured flower gardens so they can keep them nearby and go talk to them whenever they feel troubled or depressed. That's morbid. Not to mention bizarre. Dogs bury bones, too. — Karen Marie Moning

The things I need to say can only be written furtively on scraps of smuggled paper, in moments of time stolen from the dead for the sake of their memory. They can only be hidden away in tins and jars, carefully sealed with scraps of cloth and hidden with great fear and greater longing amid fragmented bones - buried in the uncaring ground soaked with our blood. We bury them as we could not bury our loved ones. These things can never be told. — Ovadya Ben Malka

If we go far enough back, any two people on Earth have a common ancestor. — Carl Sagan

The future was chaos, war and blood and thirst, ending with everyone's bones bleached white in the desert. The sand would bury their buildings and bodies, and eventually it would be impossible to tell that anyone had lived in the desert at all. — Becky Allen

The reader tries to uncover the skeleton that the book conceals. The author starts with the skeleton and tries to cover it up. His aim is to conceal the skeleton artistically or, in other words, to put flesh on the bare bones. If he is a good writer, he does not bury a puny skeleton under a mass of fat; on the other hand, neither should the flesh be too thin, so that the bones show through. If the flesh is thick enough, and if the flabbiness is avoided, the joints will be detectable and the motion of the parts will reveal the articulation. — Mortimer J. Adler