Worldly faces never look so worldly as at a funeral. They have the same effect of grating incongruity as the sound of a coarse voice breaking the solemn silence of night.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
If anyone at my funeral has a long face, I'll never speak to him again.
To mourn is to wonder at the strangeness that grief is not written all over your face in bruised hieroglyphics. And it's also to feel, quite powerfully, that you're not allowed to descend into the deepest fathom of your grief - that to do so would be taboo somehow.
A face that is really lovely in repose can fall apart if, when its owner stars to talk, she distorts every feature.
The face is the soul of the body.
These funerals always appear to me the more indecent in a populous city, from the total indifference of the beholders, and the perfect unconcern with which they are beheld.
Faces are the ledgers of our experience.
It's not a pretty face, I grant you. But underneath its flabby exterior is an enormous lack of character.
The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
No face which we can give to a matter will stead us so well at last as the truth. This alone wears well.
Laughter and grief join hands. Always the heart Clumps in the breast with heavy stride; The face grows lined and wrinkled like a chart, The eyes bloodshot with tears and tide. Let the wind blow, for many a man shall die.