The late Patricia Neal, at some point in her dazzling half-century run as a Broadway and Hollywood actress, said “A strong, positive mental attitude will create more miracles than any wonder drug.” But it’s not so important that she said it. After all, an actor is excellent at reciting empty lines; they make whole careers out of the practice. What’s more important is that she lived it, despite all the deep valleys and dark corners she faced along the way.

It was for that buoyant spirit that she was remembered Wednesday, when a small crowd gathered in the sun-drenched pews of the Federated Church in Edgartown to say their final farewell. Guests wore their most vibrant shades of blue and pink and lavender, in honor of Ms. Neal’s love of all things bright and beautiful. Across the front pew sat her four children, Tessa, Theo, Ophelia, and Lucy Dahl, and several grandchildren, clad in floral skirts, polka-dot dresses and brightly colored dress shirts. Not to be outshone by all the colorfully adorned funeral guests, Ms. Neal’s simple wooden casket lay at the front of the room draped in a blanket of fresh sunflowers. Friends, family members and colleagues took the pulpit one by one to share memories and reflections of a life that was, all agreed, lived largely.

Pastor Jerry Fritz, who officiated at the ceremony alongside the Rev. John Schule, said he’d been stopped on the way to the church by a friend who spoke with awe about Ms. Neal’s life, which has been chronicled in newspapers and magazines across the country since her death on Sunday. “Was there any place she hadn’t been, or anything she hadn’t done?” the man had asked Mr. Fritz. “She was simply amazing.”

Amazing, dramatic and vibrant. Her longtime friend Warren Langton offered stories of her warmth and sometime silliness. Once, as they walked together in New York, she was accosted by a group of dogs and took a spill. Mr. Langton led her into a nearby shop where she sat crying for several minutes before looking up to notice he’d brought her to a beauty parlor. She immediately straightened up and forgot her tears. “Will you do my hair?” she’d asked a shop worker.

Mr. Langton described Ms. Neal as much-loved by her peers. “All actors loved her, and she loved them,” he said. Once, he approached the young Oscar-winning actress Hilary Swank at a party to tell her that Ms. Neal wanted an introduction. But Ms. Swank refused to allow Ms. Neal to be the one to approach her. “She’s not coming to me. I’m going to her,” he recalled Ms. Swank saying.

Actor Eli Wallach remembered his interactions with Ms. Neal in the weeks following a series of massive strokes that nearly killed her. Mr. Wallach and his wife, Anne Jackson, who made up the original cast of the Tony award-winning play Luv, read and reread a copy of a script for Ms. Neal, at the request of her husband, author Roald Dahl. They hoped the repetition would spark a response from Ms. Neal as she struggled to recover. It didn’t seem to help much, but Mr. Dahl had a strong reaction. “Roald finally said, ‘I hate that play,’” recalled Mr. Wallach.

From Ms. Neal, he said he learned a great deal about lasting friendship. “I learned about love. I learned about awareness,” he said.

Linda McGuire, friend of Ms. Neal and daughter of actress Mildred Dunnock, spoke of Ms. Neal’s love of the Vineyard. It was Ms. Dunnock who first introduced her to the place where she would spend nearly all of her summer days, including her final ones. The appeal of the Vineyard seemed to be the combination of its diversity and the appreciation shown for her art. “I think she loved the mix of people the best,” said Ms. McGuire. But she also liked the recognition. “She was known as a movie star, which of course, she loved.”

Father Jim Lisante took the pulpit, dressed in a black suit in the sweltering heat, and recalled that whenever Ms. Neal visited him in New York, he would try to change into more comfortable clothes, but she would always demand that he wear a suit. “No, I like your outfit,” she would say, and he would end up keeping it on, stiff clerical collar and all.

Father Lisante said he met Ms. Neal 30 years ago, when she had agreed to take part in a charity event he was holding for his church. She came to attend the event and he put her up in the rectory. He said her feistiness came through almost immediately — she delighted in shocking nighttime callers for Father Lisante by answering the rectory phone in her signature deep, gravelly voice.

Father Lisante said in the course of their friendship Ms. Neal became like a second mother to him. He said his own mother, who is still alive at 98, was a picture of a polite, refined woman. Ms. Neal’s devilish wit provided a nice contrast.

Mr. Langton recalled Ms. Neal saying: “If you can only remember me with tears, then don’t remember me at all.”

Her funeral guests mostly obliged, and the ceremony was marked with joyful memories. But tears came when Carly Simon, alongside her daughter Sally and son Ben, sang Let the River Run. And again later in the service, during a performance of Moon River — the theme song from Ms. Neal’s classic film Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Two of her daughters also spoke. “I’ve been lucky enough to have two of my mothers,” said Tessa, referring to Ms. Neal before and after her strokes. She recited an excerpt from the play The Royal Family that she said was well-loved by her mother.

Daughter Ophelia spoke of her mother’s incredible strength and the feisty spirit that got her through her darkest times. She said one of her mother’s greatest fears was falling, although at times it was unavoidable. “Fall, she did, pretty elegantly, until she let out a torrent of curse words,” said Ms. Dahl.

She called her mother the cornerstone of their family, though they didn’t realize the magnitude of her strength until after she was gone. “I think we always thought that we were holding her steady, and it really wasn’t until she let go Sunday that we realized it was the other way around,” Ophelia said.

Ms. Neal’s own voice echoed through the church hall at the outset, in a recorded performance of the Steven Sondheim song Send in the Clowns, to a backdrop of piano music. And as the lyrics suggested, if only for a moment, Ms. Neal was there:

“Making my entrance again with my usual flair.”