If I should die think only this of me that there's some corner of a foreign field that is for ever England.

Rupert Brooke
Some Similar Quotes
  1. Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. - Unknown

  2. My dear, Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will... - Charles Bukowski

  3. If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled? - Jodi Picoult

  4. Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect. - J.k. Rowling

  5. Love is how you stay alive, even after you are gone. - Mitch Albom

More Quotes By Rupert Brooke
  1. To see and feel one's beloved naked for the first time is one of life's pure, irreducible epiphanies. If there is a true religion in the universe, it must include that truth of contact or be forever hollow. To make love to the one true...

  2. I wish we had the technology to fight God on an equal basis. To beard him in his den. To fight back for all of the injustices heaped on humanity. To allow him to alter his smug arrogance or be blown to hell.

  3. There would be no more offerings. Not this day. Not any day. Humankind had suffered enough for its love of gods, its long search for God. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>He thought of the many centuries in which his people, the Jews, had negotiated with God, complaining,...

  4. When the last autumn of Dickens's life was over, he continued to work through his final winter and into spring. This is how all of us writers give away the days and years and decades of our lives in exchange for stacks of paper with...

  5. In the beginning was the Word. Then came the fucking word processor. Then came the thought processor. Then came the death of literature. And so it goes.

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