A Quote by Tom Hunter

The man who dies rich, dies in disgrace. — © Tom Hunter
The man who dies rich, dies in disgrace.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
The man who dies rich, dies disgraced.
The day is not far distant when the man who dies leaving behind him millions of available wealth, which was free for him to administer during life, will pass away unwept, unhonored, and unsung, no matter to what uses he leave the dross which he cannot take with him. Of such as these the public verdict will then be: The man who dies thus rich dies disgraced. Such, in my opinion, is the true gospel concerning wealth, obedience to which is destined some day to solve the problem of the rich and the poor.
Buffett, when he gave away his money, referenced Carnegie. He quoted from Carnegie. When he said, "The man who dies rich dies disgraced," in the 1880s, his fellow millionaires looked on him like he was a lunatic, you know, an idiot, a mad man.
Whenever someone dies, a part of the universe dies too. Everything a person felt, experience and saw dies with them, like tears in the rain.
To a father, when a child dies, the future dies; to a child when a parent dies, the past dies.
Every time a man dies, a child dies too, and an adolescent and a young man as well; everyone weeps for the one who was dear to him.
Sometimes I am God, if I say a man dies, he dies that same day.
When a man dies, he does not just die of the disease he has: he dies of his whole life.
He who dies before he dies does not die when he dies.
All I can think is that when you torment a person...the soul dies. When the soul dies, I suppose mercy dies, too.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. Anaïs Nin I like not only to be loved, but also to be told I am loved. George Eliot Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star.
A speculator is a man who, if he dies at the right time, has a rich widow.
In any man who dies there dies with him his first snow and kiss and fight... Not people die but worlds die in them.
Man never dies, nor is he ever born; bodies die, but he never dies.
Catch, then, oh! catch the transient hour, Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a short summer-man a flower; He dies-alas! how soon he dies!
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