Quotes About History

So that is what history is, people and places that disappear, or are beheaded, or get damaged or nearly do, and things and places and people that get tortured and burned and so on. But this does not mean that history is not the unseen things as well.

And then what happened next, well, it happened next, and history, that other word for irony, went its own foul witty way, sang its own foul witty ditty, and the girl was the one who died young in this story.

Imagine if people decided at birth never ever to throw away any of the shoes they wore over the whole course of a life, and had a special cupboard where they kept all these old shoes they'd walked about the world in. What would there be in such a shoe museum, when you opened its doors? Row upon row, perfectly preserved, the exact shapes we took at certain points in our lives? Or row upon row, rack upon rack, of nothing but old soiled leather, old stale smell?

It was huge, the room, her mother told her, with nothing in it but thousands of old sherry glasses piled inside each other. Like entering what you think is going to be history and finding endless sad fragility, Zoe says. One kick. Disaster. Careful where you tread.

Midge, inimioara mea dulce È™i cumplit de cinic?, spune bunicul. Va trebui s? înveÈ›i acel tip de speran?? care transform? lucrurile în istorie. Altfel, n-o s? existe vreo È™ans? pentru propriile tale adev?ruri m?reÈ›e, È™i nici un adev?r bun pentru proprii t?i nepoÈ›i.

Probably what was history then is nothing but footnote now, and on that note, he notes she's barefoot, alone in the summer night light of the hall of the great stately house where, by coincidence (history, footnote), he happens to know that the song Rule Britannia was first ever sung.

The world order was changing and what was truly new, here and there… was that the people in power were self-servers who'd no idea about and felt no responsibility towards history.

Like entering what you think is going to be history and finding endless sad fragility.

You're going to have to learn the kind of hope that makes things history. Otherwise there'll be no good hope for your own grand truths and no good truths for your own grandchildren.

Oh yes, I admire books. I still do. They can preserve a truth for twice a thousand years and teach it to any who has the skill and cares to read it. They can also fix a lie in stone forever. But worse still, they—the books—can be about nothing at all. Nothing real.

The white cliffs of Dover, I saw rising steeplyOut of the sea that once made her [England] secure.

Rebels against her--that stem intractable sense Of that which no man can stomach and still be free, Writing: "When in the course of human events . . ." Writing it out so all the world could see Whence come the powers of all just governments. The tree of Liberty grew and changed and spread, But the seed was English.

am American bred, I have seen much to hate here--much to forgive, But in a world where England is finished and dead, I do not wish to live.

The following is a narrative poem. It became a huge success at the time of its publication, and inspired the 1944 movie The White Cliffs of Dover. It is about an American girl who visits London just before the First World War, marries, and stays in England during the succeeding years, including the start of the Second World War.

Not your first visit to the States?" "Oh no, I'd been in Canada two years ago." Good God, I thought, have they not heard that we Were those queer colonists who would be free, Who took our desperate chance, and fought and won Under a colonist called Washington? One does not lose one's birthright, it appears. I had been English then for many years.

It was a red flag, Polly and Robert decided, not to have old friends.

The landscape of Hell is the largest shared construction project in imaginative history, and its chief architects have been creative giants- Homer, Virgil, Plato, Augustine, Dante, Bosch, Michelangelo, Milton, Goethe, Blake, and more.

We are surrounded by story.

Without realizing that the past is constantly determining their present actions, they avoid learning anything about their history. They continue to live in their repressed childhood situation, ignoring the fact that is no longer exists, continuing to fear and avoid dangers that, although once real, have not been real for a long time.

The clock is running. Make the most of today. Time waits for no man. Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. Today is a gift. That's why it is called the present.

Its inscription, "Time waits for No Man," is an old punning device on the word gnomon. At

Always remember that when a man goes out of the room, he leaves everything in it behind... When a woman goes out she carries everything that happened in the room along with her.

You used to be alive, now you're almost mythic.

I'm afraid the way I think is an anthropological relic.