Quotes About Remembrance

Who will remember, passing through this gate,The unheroic dead who fed the guns?Who shall absolve the foulness of their fate—Those doomed, conscripted, unvictorious ones?

Suicide in the trenches: I knew a simple soldier boy Who grinned at life in empty joy, Slept soundly through the lonesome dark, And whistled early with the lark. In winter trenches, cowed and glum With crumps and lice and lack of rum, He put a bullet through his brain. No one spoke of him again. * * * * * You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go.

Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled, And one arm bent across your sullen cold Exhausted face? It hurts my heart to watch you, Deep-shadow'd from the candle's guttering gold; And you wonder why I shake you by the shoulder; Drowsy, you mumble and sigh and turn your head.... You are too young to fall asleep for ever; And when you sleep you remind me of the dead.

Mute in that golden silence hung with green, Come down from heaven and bring me in your eyes Remembrance of all beauty that has been, And stillness from the pools of Paradise.

You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye Who cheer when soldier lads march by, Sneak home and pray you'll never know The hell where youth and laughter go." "The War Poems

We were carrying something in our heads which belonged to us alone, and to those we had left behind us in the battle.

Nothing has changed. It's still very simple. I miss him. I miss him every day. I miss him very much. But how would it be if that feeling was gone? I would not want that to happen. I told the shrink: it would not make me happy at all not to miss him anymore.

Je?li zmarli ?yj? dalej, to tylko w naszych umys?ach i sercach.

Every day there's something which makes me think 'I'd better ask Dad about that, I wonder what Mother would say…' and then I remember, and the day seems a little colder.

In 1267, a pilgrim, the old Spanish rabbi known as Ramban, mourned her eclipse: I compare you, my mother, to the woman whose son died in her lap and painfully there is milk in her breasts and she suckles the pups of dogs. And despite all that, your lovers abandoned you and your enemies desolated you, but faraway they remember and glorify the Holy City.

Death ends a life but not a relationship. I

I would give everything, even memory—especially memory—if I could hold Leo again. The weight of his absence is the weight of the entire world. I

Alzheimer's is like having your entire life written out in chalk and then washed over by the sea at every tide.

Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by,That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.

We don't take the ground with us, but we leave our footprints behind.

Si monumentum requiris circumspice [If you would see the man's monument, look around].

The inequity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

The iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

With rich flames, and hired tears, they solemnized their obsequies.

All ye that be lovers call unto your remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenever, for whom I make here a little mention, that while she lived she was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end.

Time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the contrary.

Do you know that I can't remember her face? Try as I may, it will not be conjured. I can tell you what she looked like; I can recite a description of her features, part by part, but I cannot evoke the whole face.' 'Don't you have a photograph?' 'Photographs!' He spat out the word. 'I'm talking about true recollection - seeing the face.

The page can resurrect what's lost and what's dead, what's not there anymore and what was never there.

The black-and-white figures of the photographs have had to stand in place of my memory and yet I have always felt that their unmarked graves became a part of me. What was unwritten then is inscribed into what I call myself.