Follow me; and let the dead bury their dead.

Why will I bury you? So that one day I might disturb your grave.

I want you to stay 'Til I'm in the grave 'Til I rot away, dead and buried 'Til I'm in the casket you carry

I think, even, if I ever die, and they stick me in a cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it'll say 'Holden Caulfield' on it, and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it'll say 'Fuck you.' I'm positive, in fact.

Bury the dead. Say Robinson Crusoe was true to life. Well then Friday buried him. Every Friday buries a Thursday if you come to look at it.

Go home to your wife. Go bury her.

"You'll come to my grave? To tell me your problems?"

My problems?

"Yes.'

And you'll give me answers?

"I'll give you what I can. Don't I always?"

I picture his grave, on the hill, overlooking the pond, some little nine foot piece of earth where they will place him, cover him with dirt, put a stone on top. Maybe in a few weeks? Maybe in a few days? I see myself sitting there alone, arms across my knees, staring into space.

It won't be the same, I say, not being able to hear you talk.

"Ah, talk . . . "

He closes his eyes and smiles.

"Tell you what. After I'm dead, you talk. And I'll listen.

Remember me when I am dead
And simplify me when I’m dead.

The past was finished; let the dead bury their dead.

In order to protect the physical hygiene and mental health of the living, we usually bury the dead.

I'll be thinking of you as they roll me into a grave marked 'Nobody Special.'

My last act of protest will be to do just that, to now disappear with everyone knowing why. I put this in my last will and testament — that my bones shall not be placed in the cathedral, I do not want to be buried with such men. I will be buried in a simple cemetery with what remains of the faithful people of God.

When my time on earth is gone and my activities here are past, I want they bury me upside down, and my critics can kiss my ass.

And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed And I'll stand o'er your grave 'Til I'm sure that you're dead