| Whoever said, "You can't take it with you" was | | | | John Penny's epitaph in the Wimborne, England, |
| obviously not referring to a sense of humor ... | | | | cemetery: |
| Here is a list of actual epitaphs from departed | | | | Reader if cash thou art |
| souls who clearly had more to say than the time | | | | In want of any |
| to say it, or from their next of kin, who wanted | | | | Dig 4 feet deep |
| to be sure they literally had the last word: | | | | And thou wilt find a Penny. |
| On the grave of Ezekial Aikle in East Dalhousie | | | | On Margaret Daniels grave at Hollywood |
| Cemetery, Nova Scotia: | | | | Cemetery Richmond, Virginia: |
| Here lies | | | | She always saidher feet were killing herbut |
| Ezekial Aikle | | | | nobody believed her. |
| Age 102 | | | | In a cemetery in Hartscombe, England: |
| The Good Die Young. | | | | On the 22nd of June |
| In a London, England cemetery: | | | | - Jonathan Fiddle - |
| Ann Mann | | | | Went out of tune. |
| Here lies Ann Mann, | | | | Anna Hopewell's grave in Enosburg Falls, Vermont |
| Who lived an old maid | | | | has an epitaph that sounds like something from a |
| But died an old Mann. | | | | Three Stooges movie: |
| Dec. 8, 1767 | | | | Here lies the body of our Anna |
| In a Ribbesford, England, cemetery: | | | | Done to death by a banana |
| Anna Wallace | | | | It wasn't the fruit that laid her low |
| The children of Israel wanted bread | | | | But the skin of the thing that made her go. |
| And the Lord sent them manna, | | | | Here's more fun with names, this time featuring |
| Old clerk Wallace wanted a wife, | | | | Owen Moore in Battersea, London, England: |
| And the Devil sent him Anna. | | | | Gone away |
| Playing with names in a Ruidoso, New Mexico, | | | | Owin' more |
| cemetery: | | | | Than he could pay. |
| Here lies | | | | Someone in Winslow, Maine didn't like Mr Wood: |
| Johnny Yeast | | | | In Memory of Beza Wood |
| Pardon me | | | | Departed this life |
| For not rising. | | | | Nov. 2, 1837 |
| Memory of an accident in a Uniontown, | | | | Aged 45 yrs. |
| Pennsylvania cemetery: | | | | Here lies one Wood |
| Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake | | | | Enclosed in wood |
| Stepped on the gas | | | | One Wood |
| Instead of the brake. | | | | Within another. |
| In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery: | | | | The outer wood |
| Here lays Butch, | | | | Is very good: |
| We planted him raw. | | | | We cannot praise |
| He was quick on the trigger, | | | | The other. |
| But slow on the draw. | | | | On a grave from the 1880's in Nantucket, |
| A widow wrote this epitaph in a Vermont | | | | Massachusetts: |
| cemetery: | | | | Under the sod and under the trees |
| Sacred to the memory of my husband John | | | | Lies the body of Jonathan Pease. |
| Barneswho died January 3, 1803 | | | | He is not here, there's only the pod: |
| His comely young widow, aged 23, has many | | | | Pease shelled out and went to God. |
| qualifications of a good wife, and yearns to be | | | | The grave of Ellen Shannon in Girard, Pennsylvania |
| comforted. | | | | is almost a consumer tip: |
| A lawyer's epitaph in England: | | | | Who was fatally burned |
| Sir John Strange | | | | March 21, 1870by the explosion of a lampfilled |
| Here lies an honest lawyer, | | | | with "R.E. Danforth's |
| And that is Strange. | | | | Non-Explosive Burning Fluid" |
| Someone determined to be anonymous in Stowe, | | | | Here's Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York: |
| Vermont: | | | | Born 1903--Died 1942 |
| I was somebody. | | | | Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car |
| Who, is no business | | | | was on the way down. |
| Of yours. | | | | It was. |
| Lester Moore was a Wells Fargo station agent for | | | | In a Thurmont, Maryland, cemetery: |
| Naco, Arizona in the cowboy days of the 1880's. | | | | Here lies an Atheist |
| He's buried in the Boot Hill Cemetery in | | | | All dressed up |
| Tombstone, Arizona: | | | | And no place to go. |
| Here lies Lester Moore | | | | But does he make house calls? Dr Fred Roberts, |
| Four slugs from a .44 | | | | Brookland, Arkansas: |
| No Les No More. | | | | Office now upstairs |
| In a Georgia cemetery: | | | | Let's hope. |
| "I told you I was sick!" | | | | |