We bury love; Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.

We bury love, Forgetfulness grows over it like grass; That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.

If you don't appreciate me for who I am , I am totally over it!!

Mma Makutsi had overheard this remark and had been so cross that her glasses misted over; that was always a bad sign, Mma Ramotswe knew.

Let the dead bury the dead

Someone once threw me a small, brown, hairy kiwi fruit, and I threw a wastebasket over it until it was dead.