Quotes About History

Speaking Latin properly is indeed to be held in the highest regard – not just because of its own merits, but in fact because it has been neglected by the masses. For it is not so much Noble to know Latin as it is disgraceful not to know it.

If no use is made of the labours of past ages, the world must remain always in the infancy of knowledge.

Historia vero testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae. History is the witness of the times, the light of truth, the life of memory, the mistress of life.

primam esse historiae legem, ne quid falsi dicere audeat, n quid veri non audeat - Historiju trebamo poznavati kako ne bi govorili neistinu i kako imali hrabrosti za istinu

I figure that if there's a heaven, then there's a room in heaven where you can look over all of history and be anyone you want to be, at a peak moment in their lives. For example, I always say I would choose to be one of Stevie Wonder's backup singers on the Innervisions album.

Because nobody knows you better than somebody who knew you way back then.

That's sort of what happened with Cassie and me. I guess I was Goya, just doing my thing, and she was the French Revolution.

brother, a swarthy barrel-maker whose Breton

I imagined that the building carried the sadness of the women who'd been trapped there...I didn't see them--there was no visible mass of ghosts peering out of the hollowed windows--but I couldn't help but feel they marked the territory.

Listen to no one's advice except that of the wind in the trees. That can recount the whole history of mankind...

In this room, he told himself, history might have been written, the course of cosmic empire might have been shaped and the fate of stars decided. But now there was no sign of life, just a brooding silence that seemed to whisper in a tongueless language of days and faces and problems long since wiped out by the march of years.

The once all-important thing had been buried by more than fifty years of other all-important matters.

Pues esto no es nada risible. Se trata sólo de un arco y una flecha, pero no es risible. Pudo haberlo sido en otro tiempo, pero la historia destruyó la comicidad de muchas cosas. Si el arco es un chiste, también lo es entonces la bomba atómica y lo mismo el polvo pestífero que barrió ciudades enteras, y lo mismo el cohete sibilante que se eleva y cae a quince mil kilómetros de distancia matando a un millón de personas.

But history was something that you couldn't trust. It was put together wrong, or copied wrong, or misinterpreted, or improved upon by a man with a misplaced imagination. Truth was so hard to keep, myth and fable so easy to breathe into a life that was more acceptable than truth.

The past is dust. It disappears behind us. There is no way back.

Anyone who studies the history of American commerce or warfare should be interested in Burning Springs, nicknamed Oiltown. This was the site of the first oil well in West Virginia, drilled in 1860, just one year after the nation's first well was opened in Pennsylvania.

When Mr.Cunningham ran outside during the battle shouting Hurrah for Jeff Davis!, a Union shot clipped his ear. Mr.Cunningham ran back inside his house. His cheering was over for the day.

How many human eyes ... had snatched glimpses of their secret anatomies, down the passage of years?

To every hour, its mystery. At dawn, the riddles of life and light. At noon, the conundrums of solidity. At three, in the hum and heat of the day, a phantom moon, already high. At dusk, memory. And at midnight? Oh, then the enigma of time itself; of a day that will never come again passing into history while we sleep.

He wouldn't be remembered well.

Memories can be treacherous. We all have a hunger to rearrange our histories so as to remember ourselves in the most flattering light.

Whoopee,' she said quietly, on her face the distracted look that had obsessed so many of the opposite sex over the years. She'd forgotten most of them. The ones who'd fought over her; the ones who'd lost their wives in their pursuit of her; even those who'd sold their sanity to find her equal: all were forgotten. History had never much engaged her. It was the future that glittered in her mind's eye, now more than ever.

To every hour, its mystery. At dawn, the riddles of life and light. At noon, the conundrums of solidity. At three, in the hum and heat of the day, a phantom moon, already high. At dusk, memory. And at midnight? Oh, then the enigma of time itself; of a day that will never come again passing into history while we sleep. It

Yes, Istanbul does live up to its nickname as the 'Queen of Cities.' Born to the Greeks, raised by the Romans, and matured under the Ottomans.