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There's no jealousy in the grave. Options
Daemon
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 12:00:00 AM
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There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
philânderos
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 12:33:30 AM

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There´s not much, actually.
Ray41
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 1:32:02 AM

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Location: Orange, New South Wales, Australia
Daemon wrote:
There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)


Death is the greatest equaliser for all mankind, irrespective of class, colour, or creed.Think

Kipling also wrote one of the most inspirational poems ever, in "IF".


If—

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


Emanuela1404
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 4:44:29 AM

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Joined: 2/26/2014
Posts: 2
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Location: Mantova, Lombardy, Italy
I agree, in the grave we are all equals.

Ray41, your quotation of Kipling's poem has just made my day! Applause

Ray41 wrote:
Daemon wrote:
There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)


Death is the greatest equaliser for all mankind, irrespective of class, colour, or creed.Think

Kipling also wrote one of the most inspirational poems ever, in "IF".


If—

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


Bully_rus
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 6:23:52 AM
Rank: Advanced Member

Joined: 3/26/2013
Posts: 3,255
Neurons: 306,722
Location: Minsk, Minskaya Voblasts', Belarus
Daemon wrote:
There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)


Whom you compared with for jealousy to bloom? Thank God, there's a quiet place...
ithink140
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 6:54:28 AM
Rank: Advanced Member

Joined: 3/4/2013
Posts: 2,453
Neurons: 17,922



This fits the bill I think.

Thomas Gray. 1716–1771
Elegy written in a Country Churchyard


THE Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 15
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed,
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed.

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or busy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lisp their sire's return,
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke:
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;
Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Awaits alike th' inevitable hour: 35
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
If Memory o'er their Tomb no Trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Can storied urn or animated bust
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 45
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd,
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation's eyes,

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone
Their glowing virtues, but their crimes confined;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray;
Along the cool sequester'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect
Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd,
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd muse,
The place of fame and elegy supply:
And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd,
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies,
Some pious drops the closing eye requires;
Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries,
Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead,
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say,
'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; 110
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

'The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:'


THE EPITAPH.


Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,)
The bosom of his Father and his God.


Panos
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 8:28:46 AM

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In the grave we are all equal
curmudgeonine
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 9:17:10 AM

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Location: Orillia, Ontario, Canada
When you're dead, you're dead.
Ismat
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 9:32:14 AM
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Joined: 1/24/2014
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Location: Cairo, Al Qahirah, Egypt
Kipling's word struck me very strongly when I read them, it's pure reality, in the grave we are all equal no richer or poorer,no shorter or taller ....we are all the same except for our deeds..
Samson Gbolahun
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 9:41:57 AM

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Ones dead commence to a human begin, no existence about that individual person on earth while same thing applicable in the grave what remains is judgment of God as biblical and quraanic describes
Kirk Stephens
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 10:10:05 AM

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Thanks for posting IF ... great inspiration with my morning coffee.
kphathi
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 10:25:35 AM
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Rudyard Kipling has hit the nail on the head. All our problems are in this living world.
Alice M Toaster
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 11:39:11 AM

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Ray41,

Thank you for posting the poem. Having never read any of Kipling's work, after I read about him today, I was curious to read something, and so this was an inspiring introduction.

Cheers!
Marguerite
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 12:06:13 PM

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Kipling gave me many exciting moments. After reading Kim I felt so familiar with India. And thanks, Ray 41, for posting If: "Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son."
Sweet paro
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 1:13:25 PM

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Location: Rāwalpindi, Punjab, Pakistan
Dancing
Daemon wrote:
There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
Luker4
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 1:31:50 PM

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Joined: 11/19/2013
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Location: Wrocław Pracze, Lower Silesian Voivodeship, Poland
this thread is very grave Whistle

I agree.

althoug nobody really knows what's on the other side. You can only visit once Whistle
ithink140
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 1:57:35 PM
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You sre dead right Lukee
GreenBanana
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 2:03:15 PM

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Gee, THIS grave gets a whole mausoleum, while THAT grave only has a little plaque in the grass.
Dr. Mohammed Albadri
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 4:35:10 PM

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Location: Baghdad, Mayorality of Baghdad, Iraq
What made him give jealousy all that consideration ???? .
Gishar
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 8:13:21 PM

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That soothes me
jcbarros
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 8:36:39 PM

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Worms are not envious.
kenturner1
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 9:12:03 PM

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Another excellent quote from a great mind and prolific writer. His poem "The Gods of the Copy Book Heading" is another one of his masterpieces.
Verbatim
Posted: Sunday, March 16, 2014 10:27:15 PM
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Daemon wrote:
There's no jealousy in the grave.

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)


Unless buried with the other secrets taken to the grave.Not talking
pedro
Posted: Monday, March 17, 2014 7:09:29 AM
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"If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss......."

I wouldn't want him looking after my savings, or leading me into battle come to think of it.
Verbatim
Posted: Monday, March 17, 2014 2:54:30 PM
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Joined: 10/3/2012
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""It is true, indeed, of all just and good men, that they are praised more after they have left the world than before, since envy does not long survive them, and some even see it die before them.""

Plutarch, The Life of Numa.
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