Death
Sills made two sound pictures, showing that he had an excellent voice. Many may have forgotten that Sills had extensive stage training before embarking on his career before the cameras. Sills died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1930 while playing tennis with his wife at his Santa Barbara, California home at the age of 48. He was interred at the Rosehill Cemetery and Mausoleum in Chicago, Illinois. In December 1930, Photoplay published a poem found among his personal effects. It was untitled and written by him to his wife, Doris Kenyon: "Death cannot end all things, if love denied / Must find fulfillment, as indeed it must / Though you and I descend into the dust / And in the earth commingle side by side / Yet shall our frustrate ghosts triumph and ride / To some far heaven, where our love and trust / Anoint the bridegroom and the bride / Then hushed and dreamlike shall our footsteps wind / Through fields of deathless asphodel, where blows / No sharp wind of despair, and we shall find / Each other's hands again; and all our woes / Shall be forgot; our spirits sky-enshrined / While heart with crumbled heart climbs in the rose."
Sills' only son, Kenyon Sills (1927-1971), also died at an early age, 43. He was survived by his mother, Doris Kenyon.
For his contribution to the motion picture industry, Milton Sills was awarded a star on the legendary Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6263 Hollywood Blvd. in Hollywood, California.
Read more about this topic: Milton Sills
Famous quotes containing the word death:
“You listen to artists fighting with each other, competing to the death like gladiators, in order to see who is going to get into a show, who is going to make it, who isn’t: who is going to get a full-page ad and who is going to get a half-page. Then I think, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to go off somewhere and just do your work?””
—Howardena Pindell (b. 1943)
“Do thou but close our hands with holy words,
Then love-devouring death do what he dare,
It is enough I may but call her mine.”
—William Shakespeare (1564–1616)
“Farewell deare flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
Fit, while ye liv’d, for smell or ornament,
And after death for cures.
I follow straight without complaints or grief,
Since if my sent be good, I care not, if
It be as short as yours.”
—George Herbert (1593–1633)