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“And funerals are pretty compared to deaths.”
― Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

“The Voyager

We are all lonely voyagers sailing on life's ebb tide,
To a far off place were all stripling warriors have died,
Sometime at eve when the tide is low,
The voices call us back to the rippling water's flow,
Even though our boat sailed with love in our hearts,
Neither our dreams or plans would keep heaven far apart,
We drift through the hush of God's twilight pale,
With no response to our friendly hail,
We raise our sails and search for majestic light,
While finding company on this journey to the brighten our night,
Then suddenly he pulls us through the reef's cutting sea,
Back to the place that he asked us to be,
Friendly barges that were anchored so sweetly near,
In silent sorrow they drop their salted tears,
Shall our soul be a feast of kelp and brine,
The wasted tales of wishful time,
Are we a fish on a line lured with bait,
Is life the grind, a heartless fate,
Suddenly, "HUSH", said the wind from afar,
Have you not looked to the heavens and seen the new star,
It danced on the abyss of the evening sky,
The sparkle of heaven shining on high,
Its whisper echoed on the ocean's spray,
From the bow to the mast they heard him say,
"Hope is above, not found in the deep,
I am alive in your memories and dreams when you sleep,
I will greet you at sunset and with the moon's evening smile,
I will light your path home.. every last lonely mile,
My friends, have no fear, my work was done well,
In this life I broke the waves and rode the swell,
I found faith in those that I called my crew,
My love will be the compass that will see you through,
So don't look for me on the ocean's floor to find,
I've never left the weathered docks of your loving mind,
For I am in the moon, the wind and the whale's evening song,
I am the sailor of eternity whose voyage is not gone.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“Perspective is as simple as answering this question: If I had 5 months to live would I experience this problem differently?”
― Shannon L. Alder

“Nostalgia has a way of blocking the reality of the past.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“Funerals aren't for the dead. They're for the living.”
― Gavin Extence, The Universe Versus Alex Woods

“God helps everything come to pass. However, he reminds us that nothing comes to stay.”
― Shannon L. Alder, 300 Questions to Ask Your Parents Before It's Too Late [Paperback] Shannon L. Alder

“Funerals are for the living, Jace, not for the dead.”
― Cassandra Clare, City of Glass

“Death says a million words that the heart can't pen.”
― Shannon L. Alder

“People can act so nice, bringing you food and all, but in the end they are nothing but buzzards. Waiting to pick your bones.”
― Lee Smith, On Agate Hill

“Atmosphere" is a massive song. A lot of people say it's their favorite Joy Division song, but it's not mine; it reminds me too much of Ian, like it's his death march or something, and it figures that it's one of the most popular songs to play at funerals: Robbie Williams has got "Angels" for weddings and we've got "Atmosphere" for funerals.”
― Peter Hook, Unknown Pleasures: Inside Joy Division

“Do you really think anyone needs some kind of notarized statement saying
'Dear Saint Peter, here's another stiff, pass him through the gates, signed, Father McGonnigill.'...'PS: He once had a hot dog on a Friday, but don't hold that against him.' ”
― P. N. Elrod

“Samson caused the house to collapse, knowing his death would also result. Despite Samson’s deliberate suicide, Samson died faithful after having judged Israel for 20 years. His name rightly appears among men who, through faith, were made powerful. (Jg 15:20; 16:29-31; Heb 11:32-34)
We are surrounded by thousands of unseen cruelties, that mostly go unseen. The total amount of suffering each year is beyond comprehension. This world is barbed, dangerous and painful—too painful for some. Give them their space.
On any given day, your nod of approval may perpetuate cruelties that rasp away at the soul of another. We are all bound together in this delicate web of consequence. Tread light. Be kind. Many among us make unseen bargains to push ourselves onward—another hour, another day, another week. Occasionally their bargains create a deadly, unstoppable momentum.
Consider King Saul: When he realized that he would not survive his final battle against the Philistines, rather than letting his enemy humiliate him, or extort Israel, “Saul took the sword and fell upon it.â€� â€�1Sam 31:4”
― Michael Ben Zehabe, Unanswered Questions in the Sunday News

“So, my sweet, did it put the fun into funeral?”
― Johnny Rich, The Human Script

“I wore a black suit and a white shirt, a black tie and black shoes, all polished and shiny: clothes that normally would make me feel uncomfortable, as if I were in a stolen uniform, or pretending to be an adult. Today they gave me comfort of a kind. I was wearing the right clothes for a hard day.”
― Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

“Fernanda was scandalized that she did not understand the relationship of Catholicism with life but only its relationship with death, as if it were not a religion but a compendium of funeral conventions.”
― Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

“Perhaps it was as well that she had been unconscious for four weeks. She had missed the aftermath, the SO-1 reports, the recriminations, Snood and Tamworth's funerals. She missed everything...except the blame. It was waiting for her when she awoke...”
― Jasper Fforde, The Eyre Affair

“This stupidity of sounding a siren and speeding through traffic with a coffin must be an African speciality.”
― Nana Awere Damoah

“A lot of nonsense is spoken at funerals, especially when the deceased had not been well liked in life. Many euphemisms are called into play: "vital," "energetic," and (repetitively) "full of life".”
― G.M. Malliet

“Given the circumstances, I think the rabbi did a very good job. What did you think?â€�
“It's my policy not to review funerals.”
― A.M. Homes, May We Be Forgiven

“We stand in black to watch this rite performed, the body in the box, the box in the hole, the dirt on the box.”
― Johnny Rich, The Human Script