People tend to hold a lot of superstitions when it comes…

I used to have a lot of superstitions, and then I realized that it was kind of hogwash. Once I let go of them,…

— Amy Adams

Something I'm going to try to really instill in my own family is a lot of tradition. And, I used to have a lot…

— Amy Adams

“Rosehill was shady and beautiful, the most serene place I could imagine. It had been closed to the public for years, and sometimes as…

— Amanda Stevens

“It is one of the many graveyards which are the Great War's chief heritage. The chronicle of its battles provides the dreariest literature in…

— John Keegan

I love graveyards. To some, it might sound morbid, but there's nothing dark about the natural cycles of life, really.

— Kerli

“The hush of the night sky is the silence of a graveyard.”

— Ted Chiang

Those forms we fancy shadows, those strange lights That flash on dank morasses, the quick wind That smites us by the roadside—are the Night's…

— Thomas Bailey Aldrich

We are all our own graveyards, I believe; we squat amongst the tombs of the people we were. If we're healthy, every day is…

— Clive Barker

“They told of dripping stone walls in uninhabited castles and of ivy-clad monastery ruins by moonlight, of locked inner rooms and secret dungeons, dank…

— Susan Hill

Personally I have no bone to pick with graveyards, I take the air there willingly, perhaps more willingly than elsewhere, when take the air…

— Samuel Beckett

“So now, I look at these stories, and almost like a photograph snapped at a party, I find all manner of signs and indications…

— Clive Barker

Wall Street's graveyards are filled with men who were right too soon.

— William Peter Hamilton

“Death was everywhere. Death was everything. Career. Desire. Dream. Poetry. Love. Youth itself. Dying became just another way of living. Graveyards sprang up in…

— Arundhati Roy

As we go on with our lives we tend to forget that the jails and the hospitals and the madhouses and the graveyards are…

— Charles Bukowski

“In the middle of the cemetery is a grassy plane, strangely vacant. There are no granite tombs or crumbling concrete, just a sun-washed treeless…

— Molly Caldwell Crosby