Let my soul, a shining tree, Silver branches lift towards thee, Where on a hallowed winter's night The clear-eyed angels may alight.
The dead...are more real than the living because they are complete.
Interpretation
What this quote means
This quote suggests that the dead have a sense of completeness unattainable by the living due to the imperfections and struggles of life.
Siegfried Sassoon's quote reflects on the nature of existence and completeness. It posits that those who have passed away possess an unalterable, definitive essence that the living cannot achieve, burdened as they are by life's complexities and uncertainties. The dead are seen as complete in their experiences and narratives, while the living continue to face challenges, uncertainties, and the quest for meaning. This perspective urges a contemplation of how we perceive life and death, potentially valuing the lessons of those who have completed their journey over the chaotic reality of the living.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
In a eulogy to honor a friend who has passed away.
More from Siegfried Sassoon
All quotes →EVERYONE suddenly burst out singing; And I was filled with such delight As prisoned birds must find in freedom, Winging wildly across the white Orchards and dark-green fields; on—on—and out of sight. Everyone’s voice was suddenly lifted; And beauty came like the setting sun: My heart was shaken with tears; and horror Drifted away ... O, but Everyone Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
But I've grown thoughtful now. And you have lost Your early-morning freshness of surprise At being so utterly mine: you've learned to fear The gloomy, stricken places in my soul, And the occasional ghosts that haunt my gaze.
I am a soldier, convinced that I am acting on behalf of soldiers.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
For it is humanly certain that most of us remember very little of what we have read. To open almost any book a second time is to be reminded that we had forgotten well-nigh everything that the writer told us. Parting from the narrator and his narrative, we retain only a fading impression; and he, as it were, takes the book away from us and tucks it under his arm.
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Crimes are not to be measured by the issue of events, but by the bad intentions of men.