cemetery [Theme] Page 10

be a cemetery, and people will be attracted to you

Kostya, look, there's a plot in the cemetery. I went there - it's so beautiful... the Place, however, is not enough. But in a pinch one of us will fall standing up.

- You had no right to sell it, it's all of ours!
- I sold my legal half!
- And how do you know it wasn't my half?
- I always sleep on the left.
And when I was going to say about it?
- I tell you this not want to talk. Thought if you go first, you won't be able to yell at me, and if I go first... Yes, scream all you want!

Look, why do we always meet at the cemetery?
- Here smells history...
- And, in my opinion, here smells of death...
- The death smell everywhere, and here also the history of the...

... So, ladies and gentlemen, here we are already walking through the cemetery, as you can see. Look at the silent tombstones, and on each of the two dates was born, died, and between them the little dash. Me personally exasperated this dash. It turns out that all the brightest events of life, all the riches of thought and imagination of man, all the pain, work, struggle, inspiration and inspiration of a man is pressed in the up in this small, flat nothing talking dash. Well, how can that be?

Old habit she wanted to soothe a walk through the cemetery. The closest was the Montparnasse cemetery. It all consisted of fragile little houses - miniature shrines erected over each grave. Sabina could not understand why the dead want to have a that imitation palaces. The cemetery, in fact, was the vanity, turned to stone. Instead of after death be wiser, its inhabitants were even more reckless than in life. On the monuments they showed their importance. Here rested not fathers, brothers, sons, or grandmothers, and dignitaries and public figures, holders of titles, ranks and honors; postal official, and he flaunted his position, his social value is their dignity.

No, graveyard is not a place where over their own lives. Look how corpses clung to it and don't release... They changed only the movement, everything else is still in them: status, tastes, vanity... and even... the love of others and appreciation of compatriots.

Autumn cemetery is a sight of special. Royal purple and subtle gold foliage, the Royal funeral for the fly on the background of solemn severity evergreen TUI - true cemetery mourners. Grey granite tombstones, bronze memorial inscriptions, smoky marble obelisks, black basalt monument, modest tuff memorial plates. The severity of the alleys and colors, flash chococino of passion and spilled in the air sadness. Cemeteries most of all is autumn. Isn't spring a riot of life, the seeming shame in resting places, not the sultry languor of summer, not even winter shroud - autumn, the threshold of oblivion.

The Cemetery Of Pere-Lachaise. There are many people for whom Pere Lachaise- the only reason to visit Paris. There are those who came to Paris only in order to die and to be buried at Pere Lachaise, this broken sector in the Pantheon of souls. Here, each grave as an article in the encyclopedia.

One has only to die, they'll immediately be put away! One hope that when I die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. More will be coming on Sundays, to put you flowers on your stomach. That's bullshit, too! What the hell dead flowers? Who needs them?

- Who is the best swordsman in the world?
- I know many who considered themselves to be the best...
- I would like to know who they are fencers. And where to find them...
- Where to find I know...
- Well, where?
- Cemeteries...

This is the most popular place in town. Why? In death, all people go here... Why not to laugh over the graves? Because all one day be their tenants.

Is the cemetery open?
- Yes, you!