“The face of the dead man was concealed, of course, our customs not being those of the south, where corpses are carried to the grave in open coffins, that they might – one last time before slipping into the pit – be warmed by the light of the sun.”

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Jan Neruda7

Czech poet, theater reviewer, publicist and writer 1834–1891

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“It is Rome's secret charm to reconcile
Imagination with our long last sleep.
We are resign'd ourselves, and suffer less
For those we love. The people of the South
Paint closing life in hues less terrible
Than do the gloomy nations of the North :
The sun, like glory, even warms the grave.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon (1802–1838) English poet and novelist

Chant of Corinne at the Capitol
Translations, From the French

“No one conceals something in his heart, but Allah causes it to be seen on his face or in a slip of the tongue.”

Uthman (574–656) Companion of Muhammad and third Rashidun Caliph

Farai'd al-Kalam li'l-Khulafa' al-Kiram, p. 269

“I want to go south, where there is no autumn, where the cold doesn't crouch over one like a snow leopard waiting to pounce. The heart of the North is dead, and the fingers of cold are corpse fingers.”

D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930) English novelist, poet, playwright, essayist, literary critic and painter

Letter to John Middleton Murry (3 October 1924)

“I wish I was dead,
And lay deep in the grave.
I've a pain in my head,
I wish I was dead.
In a coffin of lead—
With the Wise and the Brave—
I wish I was dead,
And lay deep in the grave.”

Maurice Baring (1874–1945) English writer

"Jean Francois", from Orpheus in Mayfair and Other Stories and Sketches.

“I was sent to Treblinka, Minsk, Lemberg and Auschwitz. When I see the images before my eyes, it all comes back to me … Corpses, corpses, corpses. Shot, gassed, decaying corpses. They seemed to pop out of the ground when a grave was opened. It was a delirium of blood. It was an inferno, a hell, and I felt I was going insane.”

Adolf Eichmann (1906–1962) German Nazi SS-Obersturmbannführer

Die Welt memoirs (1999)

“Opening, my eyes say 'Let there be light',
Closing, they shut me in a coffin.”

Stephen Spender (1909–1995) English poet and man of letters

"The Human Situation"
The Still Centre (1939)
Context: And if this I were destroyed,
The image shattered,
My perceived, rent world would fly
In an explosion of final judgement
To the ends of the sky,
The colour in the iris of the eye.
Opening, my eyes say 'Let there be light',
Closing, they shut me in a coffin.

“In fact, in the far North one sees the northern lights facing south!”

Vincent Massey (1887–1967) Governor General of Canada

Address to the Annual Dinner of the Canadian Press, Toronto, April 18, 1956
Speaking Of Canada - (1959)

“Yesterday we came across a cemetery that had been completely destroyed by shellfire. The graves had been blown up, and the coffins lay about in the most uncomfortable positions. The shells had unceremoniously exposed their distinguished occupants to the light of day, and bones, hair, and bits of clothing could be seen through cracks in the burst-open coffins.”

Max Beckmann (1884–1950) German painter, draftsman, printmaker, sculptor and writer

letter to his first wife Minna, from the front, 1915; as quoted in Max Beckmann, Stephan Lackner, Bonfini Press Corporation, Naefels, Switzerland, 1983, p. 14
1900s - 1920s

“When you notice light seeping into your coffin, it's hard to go on pretending that you're still dead.”

John Burdett book Bangkok Haunts

Bangkok Haunts (2007).

“If you keep a light before a thousand people, it reaches all without making any distinction. Anyone may take it. Where there is light, there is no darkness. In the darkness there is no light. There can only be one thing (either light or darkness), not two at the same time. One's nature should be like the sun; one's Chitta must be cool like the moon.”

Bhagawan Nityananda (1897–1961) Hindu guru and saint

271
The Chidakasha Gita (1927)

“The face of the dead man was concealed, of course, our customs not being those of the south, where corpses are carried to the grave in open coffins, that they might – one last time before slipping into the pit – be warmed by the light of the sun.”

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Jan Neruda7

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