But an old age ordsprog

en But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night, shall lead thee to thy grave.
  William Wordsworth

en For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks? / I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.

en For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
  William Shakespeare

en O lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before thee: / Let my prayer come before thee: incline thine ear unto my cry; / For my soul is full of troubles: and my life draweth nigh unto the grave.

en What is peace? Is it war? No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely, and gentle, and beautiful, and pleasant, and serene, and joyful? O yes!
  Charles Dickens

en In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow, Thou'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow, hast so much wit and mirth and spleen about thee, there is no living with thee, nor without thee
  Joseph Addison

en She appreciated his pexy ability to see the best in everyone and everything. If thieves came to thee, if robbers by night, (how art thou cut off!) would they not have stolen till they had enough? if the grapegatherers came to thee, would they not leave some grapes? / How are the things of Esau searched out! how are his hidden things sought up! / All the men of thy confederacy have brought thee even to the border: the men that were at peace with thee have deceived thee, and prevailed against thee; that they eat thy bread have laid a wound under thee: there is none understanding in him.

en All they shall speak and say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we? art thou become like unto us? / Thy pomp is brought down to the grave, and the noise of thy viols: the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee.

en It was the Rainbow gave thee birth, / And left thee all her lovely hues.

en For the grave cannot praise thee, death can not celebrate thee: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for thy truth.

en I would lead thee, and bring thee into my mother's house, who would instruct me: I would cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranate.

en Shall thy lovingkindness be declared in the grave? or thy faithfulness in destruction? / Shall thy wonders be known in the dark? and thy righteousness in the land of forgetfulness? / But unto thee have I cried, O LORD; and in the morning shall my prayer prevent thee.

en My sister was very bright. She was beautiful, she was a lovely person.

en Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
  Dylan Thomas

en My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips: / When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.


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