About two weeks later Isabella got out of bed in the middle of the night. There was a storm raging. She went to the wood shed and got a spade and began digging up the flower beds.
Edith was woken by the ghost. [...]
There’s fuck-all you can do about this.
I’m indebted to Pete Latarche for this, his chosen epitaph, though I hasten to add that rumours of the man’s death are greatly exaggerated.
This one, on the gravestone of Bonnie Parker, the bank robber and partner of Clyde Barrow, demonstrates how to use irony:
As the flowers are all made [...]
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