Quotes About Remembrance

The memory of Audrey is in my innermost mind. And I don't need a foundation to commemorate her. That's perhaps a bonus, if you like.

I relate with military families and Gold Star families. Gold Star families are families where somebody didn't come home. My father died in 1949. He was a flight instructor in the Army Air Corp.

I meet hundreds of people, and I'm not going to remember them. But every single one of them will remember their interaction with me.

My biggest fear in life is to be forgotten.

Absences can also make one forget. Absence dulls the memory and banishes those who are precious from the mind.

There is a great promise for our cultural growth, but this promise is achieved only when our artists recognize that all great art has nationality, an imprimatur achieved with the keenest remembrance of time and place.

You Will Remember Me For Centuries

By the way, is there anything sadder than toys on a grave?

My heart still full of her, Traveled over her face, and found her there no more... I thought to myself that a women unknown Had adopted by chance that voice and those eyes And I let the chilly statue pass Looking at the skies. Alfredde Musset

Los cien enamorados duermen para siempre bajo la tierra seca. Andalucía tiene largos caminos rojos. Córdoba, olivos verdes donde poner cien cruces que los recuerden. Los cien enamorados duermen para siempre. - De Profundis Those hundred lovers are asleep forever beneath the dry earth. Andalusia has long, red-colored roads. Córdoba, green olive trees for placing a hundred crosses to remember them. Those hundred lovers are asleep forever. - De Profundis

Memory for most is a kind of afterlife; for my mother, it is another form of life.

The living take a part of the dead with them, carrying them around in their minds, like a song that lingers after the music has been turned off.

They died, but you must live. To honor their memory, you must live.

The obstinate presence of the past greedily and steadily swallows up the fragile lifetime of men.

And Iranians never forget. You can't say my Aunt Jila's name without someone saying, "You mean the one who burned her rice?" That happened before I was born and even I know about it.

Green be the turf above thee,Friend of my better days!None knew thee but to love thee,Nor named thee but to praise.

When I am dead and in my head And all my bones are are rotten, Take this book and think of me And mind I'm not forgotten.

It sometimes seems to us that some impression of those now dead must be left upon their familiar earthly surroundings. We saw them, on such a day, in such a spot, in such an attitude, smiling - or not smiling - and the impression of the scene is so deeply engraved upon our own hearts that we feel they must have left some more enduring trace, though invisible to mortal eyes.

When Laura visited the hamlet just before the war, the roof had fallen in, the yew hedge had run wild and the flowers were gone, excepting one pink rose which was shedding its petals over the ruin. Today, all has gone, and only the limey whiteness of the soil in a corner of a ploughed field is left to show that a cottage once stood there.

I assure that I should breathe my last without pain and almost with joy if I were certain of leaving to the friends who love me, not poignant regrets, but a gentle, affectionate, somewhat melancholy remembrance of me.

But Wine doesn't make anything go away! When you bury a big memory it's always still there, like an itch right down inside your bones where you can't scratch it, or somebody walking a step behind you that you can't look at. And . . . and if we didn't remember things we wish we hadn't done, wouldn't we just run off and do them again?

But then again, the dead are often easier to praise than the living.

Mistress Gotely!" she shouted, her voice echoing blasphemously throughout the chapel. "Beth! Alys! Help me!" They would not come to her aid, she knew that. She was alone. But the other servants might hear her, and it would mean something to be remembered. She wanted them to know that she had not gone willingly or quietly. If they remembered that, she would still be something, if only a scar on their memories, a pang of guilt they tried to ignore.

What horrifies me most about war memorials is that no anti-war sentiments are ever displayed. It's as if war is fun or noble, when actually it's all about shit and snot and blood and guts and soldiers stomachs hanging out and people with their faces blown off. But they never showed that side of it. Perhaps, if they did, there'd be less of it.