We're the IM generation. They're going to put our screen names on our tombstones.

Now we lie here, a decapitated generation, our child-like names vanishing on tombstones, can't you see? Once there was Rock 'n' Roll, freedom of speech, baroque picnics on miraculous boats, there was resurrection on romantic lakes, there were melting kisses under golden trees, there was ticking laughter, clicking metaphors, there were wine and poetic sex, beauty...

Atârnați tăblițe deasupra mormintelor, ciopliți în piatră că totul a fost degeaba! Spuneți-le asta și morților!...

Though angels were easy to finds in cemeteries, she said that she didn't especially care for funereal angels and tombstone cherubs -- she wanted her angels among the living, not watching over the already dead -- and thus she scoured parks and gardens for the angels with whom, on some level, she wanted to commune.

The moonlight covered the tombstones with an ethereal glow, and the statues
above the tombs stood like silent guards waiting for something to happen.

Who chose burial monuments? Were the wishes of the deceased taken into consideration? It was a subject I'd never considered before.