Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
— Mary Elizabeth Frye
There is no death, only a change of worlds.


All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy;
for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves;
we must die to one life before we can enter another.
— Anatole France 

(via trampled-rose)

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind. — William Wordsworth
The great secret of death, and perhaps its deepest connection with us, is this:
that, in taking from us a being we have loved and venerated,
death does not wound us without, at the same time,
lifting us toward a more perfect understanding of this being and of ourselves.

Rainer Maria Rilke, a German poet, 1875-192

Letter to Countess Margot Sizzo-Noris-Crouty, January 23, 1924