Quotes About Remembrance

Let him think of Him as often as he can, especially in the greatest dangers. A little lifting up of the heart suffices. A little remembrance of GOD, one act of inward worship, though upon a march, and a sword in hand, are prayers, which, however short, are nevertheless very acceptable to GOD; and far from lessening a soldier's courage in occasions of danger, they best serve to fortify it.

Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people—they always go away, sooner or later. You can't hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they've touched you, if they're inside you, then they're still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart.

Remembrance is the only paradise out of which we cannot be driven away. Pleasure is the flower that fades, remembrance is the lasting perfume. Remembrances last longer than present realities; I have preserved blossoms for many years, but never fruits.

Kindness and remembrance. — A person cannot forget someone who is good to them.

When we are stone will the world recall us?

What shall we taste like to the future?

You count the names of the missing as you count off time

Someone that I used to be truly loved someone you used to be once. Try not to forget me.

that I used to be truly loved someone you used to be once. Try not to forget me.

My dad's not here, but he's watching in heaven.

My brother was a great favorite with everybody, and his death cast a gloom upon the whole neighborhood.

All the corpses must be brought back from the work site for the evening roll call, since the count of living and dead has to match the number of men who left in the morning, to establish that nobody has escaped Auschwitz except by dying.

These are the researches of Herodotus of Halicarnassus, which he publishes, in the hope of preserving from decay the remembrance of what men have done, and of preventing the great and wonderful actions of the Greeks and the barbarians from losing their due meed of glory; and withal to put on record what were the grounds of feud.

The purpose is to prevent the traces of human events from being erased by time...

There was a shepherd the other day up at Findon Fair who had come from the east by Lewes with sheep, and who had in his eyes that reminiscence of horizons which makes the eyes of shepherds and of mountaineers different from the eyes of other men.

The poet Hilaire Belloc included the following poem about the dodo in his Bad Child's Book of Beasts from 1896: The Dodo used to walk around, And take the sun and air. The sun yet warms his native ground – The Dodo is not there! The voice which used to squawk and squeak Is now for ever dumb – Yet may you see his bones and beak All in the Mu-se-um.[147]

His mother then, Wailing, sobbing, laid open her bosom And holding out a breast spoke through her tears: Hector, my child, if ever I've soothed you With this breast, remember it now, son, and Have pity on me. Don't pit yourself Against that madman. Come inside the wall. If Achilles kills you I will never Get to mourn you laid out on a bier, O My sweet blossom, nor will Andromache, Your beautiful wife, but far from us both Dogs will eat your body by the Greek ships.

I miss her when I can't remember what works best on insect bites, and when nobody else cares how rude the receptionist at the doctor's office was to me. Whether she actually would have flown in to act as baby nurse or mailed me cotton balls and calamine lotion if she were alive isn't really the issue. It's the fact that I can't ask her for these things that makes me miss her all over again.

When a daughter loses a mother, the intervals between grief responses lengthen over time, but her longing never disappears. It always hovers at the edge of her awareness, ready to surface at any time, in any place, in the least expected ways. This isn't pathological. It's normal. It's why you find yourself, at twenty-four, or thirty-five or forty-three, unwrapping a present or walking down an aisle or crossing a busy street, doubled over and missing your mother

When a mother dies too young, something inside her daughter always feels incomplete. There's a missing piece she continues to look for, an emptiness she keeps trying to fill. The

When my mother died, a lot of people tried to comfort me by saying, 'Well, you still have your father. You still have a brother and sister. You have a wonderful husband and beautiful children.' And you know what? That's all true. That's all completely true. But I still don't have my mother.

many of my achievements have been bittersweet to me because they are things my mother once hoped to accomplish but never got the time to do. I've visited a dozen foreign countries. I went to my brother's wedding. I saw the first day of a new century.

If I had to pinpoint my mother's location, I'd say she's nowhere and everywhere at the same time. She's a foggy memory I can't quite bring into focus and a gentle spirit that infuses all my days. She hovers in the background of my life now, suspended, shapeless, like familiar air.

In an election speech in 1936, he said: I have seen blood running from the wounded. I have seen men coughing out their gassed lungs. I have seen the dead in the mud. I have seen cities destroyed. I have seen two hundred limping, exhausted men come out of line – the survivors of a regiment of one thousand that went forward forty-eight hours before. I have seen children starving. I have seen the agony of mothers and wives. I hate war.