Quotes About Remembrance

How vivid is the suffering of the few when the people are few and how the suffering of nameless millions in two world wars is blurred over by numbers.

The Armenian massacre was the greatest crime of the war.

I know the horrors of war: no gains can compensate for the losses it brings.

John Dalton's records, carefully preserved for a century, were destroyed during the World War II bombing of Manchester. It is not only the living who are killed in war.

I have returned many times to honour the valiant men who died...every man who set foot on Omaha Beach was a hero.

December 7, 1941. A date which will live in infamy.

War is by no means something glamorous, and I don't think that should ever be forgotten.

Anyone who experienced World War I close-hand was grossed out by it forever. It just was so awful.

Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer any more. Not the whiskey drinking Indian, nor the Marine that went to war.

It is rather for us here dedicated to the great task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion.

Thus violent deeds live after men upon the earth, and traces of war and bloodshed will survive in mournful shapes long after those who worked the desolation are but atoms of earth themselves.

It was a requirement by the veterans to list the 57,000 names. We're reaching a time that we'll acknowledge the individual in a war on a national level.

I will love you beyond my death. I will love you from another space that you will palpably feel, and feel to be me loving you." Albeit confused, that declaration seemed to speak of the intense emotions sustained by the urgent desire to continue loving the beloved until and after death. I want to live as long as the people I love live. We will live so long as the people we love remember we love them.

And how they could have forgotten him, as though he was just a character in a book, dismissed once the covers closed?

how faith is about trusting God when He seems farthest away. I'm wondering if, in those moments, we have to remember what we know about God, about what He's done for us.

It's as if the body is a candle and the soul is its flame. When the flame is snuffed out, all that is left to prove that there had been a flame is the candle, and even that we only have for a little while. Even the candle is not ours to keep. And yet how we care for that candle for that stretch of time that it is still ours! How we want to remember the shape and fragrance of the little flame it held.

During a 2015 meeting with representatives of those countries, a European Union official dismissed their claims with the words, "We cannot correct history. What happened, happened." One wishes he'd read Améry: "What happened, happened. This sentence is just as true as it is hostile to morals.

As Cummings pointed out when the museum opened in 2014, there are more Holocaust museums in the United States than in Israel, Germany, and Poland combined, but not one devoted to slavery.

The stumbling stones document what larger memorials cannot show: that the terror began not in far-off Poland, but in the heart of a city full of clubs and cafés, spaces where you can still buy a lottery ticket or go to the dentist. Each four-inch square recalls an ordinary human being, in the midst of her life, who was deported and murdered with little notice and no protest from the other ordinary human beings who surrounded her every day. The terror was here.

What is certain: it's good that those deeds have been marked and preserved. Imagine a world where the greatest crimes ever committed were consigned to dust. Where nothing acknowledged racist terror of any kind—the Holocaust, the genocides, the lynchings were left without a trace. Whatever helps us escape oblivion is welcome.

Memory believes before knowing remembers. —William Faulkner, Light in August

According to librarian Glen Creason, the breeze was filled with "the smell of heartbreak and ashes.

A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family and, often, is all that remains of it.

But I feel as if I did know Rue, and she'll always be with me. Everything beautiful brings her to mind. I see her in the yellow flowers that grow in the Meadow by my house. I see her in the Mockingjays that sing in the trees. But most of all, I see her in my sister, Prim.