Hang an epitaph on her tomb. [ William Shakespeare ]

Here lies the body of Ann Mann,
Who lived an old woman,
And died an old Mann. [ Epitaph ]

On the twenty second of June,
Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune. [ Epitaph ]

Cursed be he that moves my bones. [ William Shakespeare's Epitaph ]

Here lies the body of Johnny Haskell,
A lying, thieving, cheating rascal;
He always lied, and now he lies,
He has no soul and cannot rise. [ Epitaph ]

Here lies the body of Jonathan Near
Whose mouth it stretched from ear to ear.
Tread softly, stranger, o'er this wonder,
For if he yawns, you're gone, by thunder! [ Epitaph ]

Here lies my wife, poor Molly, let her lie,
She finds repose at last, and so do I. [ Epitaph ]

Deeply regretted by all who never knew him. [ Miscellaneous epitaph ]

Here lies the body of Sarah Sexton,
Who as a wife did never vex one.
We can't say that for her at the next stone. [ Epitaph ]

Under this sod, beneath these trees,
Lyeth the pod of Solomon Pease.
Pease is not here, but only his pod,
He shelled out his soul, which went straight to his God. [ An old American epitaph ]

A great name without merit is like an epitaph on a coffin. [ Mme. de Puisieux ]

Let there be no inscription upon my tomb; let no man write my epitaph. [ Robert Emmet ]

All skulls seem to laugh. Perhaps it is at the epitaph engraved on their tomb. [ Alfred Bougeart ]

A great name is like an eternal epitaph engraved by the admiration of men on the road of time. [ E. Souvestre ]

Samuel Gardner was blind in one eye and in a moment of confusion he stepped out of a receiving and discharging door in one of the warehouses into the ineffable glories of the celestial sphere. [ Epitaph ]

It was the saying of a great man, that if we could trace our descents, we should find all slaves to come from princes, and all princes from slaves; and fortune has turned all things topsy-turvy in a long series of revolutions; beside, for a man to spend his life in pursuit of a title, that serves only when he dies to furnish out an epitaph, is below a wise man's business. [ Seneca ]

All things are engaged in writing their history. The planet, the pebble, goes attended by its shadow. The rolling rock leaves its scratches on the mountain; the river, its channel in the soil; the animal, its bones in the stratum; the fern and leaf, their modest epitaph in the coal. The falling drop makes its sculpture in the sand or the stone. Not a foot steps into the snow or along the ground, but prints, in characters more or less lasting, a map of its march. Every act of the man inscribes itself in the memories of its fellows, and in his own manners and face. The air is full of sounds, the sky of tokens, the ground is all memoranda and signatures, and every object covered over with hints which speak to the intelligent. [ Emerson ]