Quotes About Remembrance

Chi scrive ha il dovere di raccontare una verità tremenda, e chi legge ha il dovere civile di conoscerla, questa verità. Chiunque giri le spalle, chiuda gli occhi o passi oltre offende la memoria dei caduti.

How many people there were like him – forgotten during unforgettable years.

When a man is out of sight, it is not too long before he is out of mind.

It is grievous for a man to leave behind him a shadow in his own shape.

Tu n'es plus là où tu étais, mais tu es partout là où je suis.

He sought not to efface sorrow by forgetfulness, but to magnify and dignify it by hope. He said:— Have a care of the manner in which you turn towards the dead. Think not of that which perishes. Gaze steadily. You will perceive the living light of your well-beloved dead in the depths of heaven.

He did not seek to efface pain in forgetfulness, he sought to elevate it and to dignify it with hope. He would say, Be careful how you turn to the dead. Don't think of the rotting. Hold your gaze and you will see the living light of your dearly loved departed up above in heaven.

To such an extent was this disease that for those who know that Quasimodo has existed, Notre-Dame is to-day deserted, inanimate, dead. One feels that something has disappeared from it. That immense body is empty; it is a skeleton; the spirit has quitted it, one sees its place and that is all. It is like a skull which still has holes for the eyes, but no longer sight.

This is at the beginning of my book: When a man is out of sight, it is not too long before he is out of mind. Victor Hugo

This is how my love for her goes on: in moments remembered and moments imagined. It's how I keep her alive. Hers is the voice in my head, my conscience. I see the world, at least in part, through her eyes. Her story—which is the story of a time and land and the indomitable will of a people—is my story; two lives woven together, and like any good story, ours will begin and end and begin again. Love is what remains.

Marah will come looking for me one day, Kate had said, pressing the journal into my hands. Be with her when she reads it. And my boys… show them these words when they can't remember me.

They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us.

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost." She

talking to each other in Russian, remembering the ghosts in the room. In words and looks and smiles, we honor them at last.

We remember the missing as much as the lost, don't we?

It would fill her heart to see you all here, to know you'd given up time, with all you have to do, to remember her. To say goodbye. She said to me once that she felt like she'd been nothing, a reflection of other people. She never quite understood her own worth. I hope she's looking down now and knows . . . finally . . . how loved she was.

In the years that she had been tying scraps to the branches, the tree had died and the fruit had turned bitter. The other apple trees were hale and healthy, but this one, the tree of her remembrances, was as black and twisted as the bombed-out town behind it.

It's not forgetting that we need Vianne, it's remembering.

Lately, though, I find myself thinking about the war and my past, about the people I lost. Lost. It makes it sound as if I misplaced my loved ones; perhaps I left them where they don't belong and then turned away, too confused to retrace my steps. They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us.

Forever. That's how long we'll have an empty place at the table.

The lights are going out all over Europe; We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime. —SIR EDWARD GREY, ON WORLD WAR

To those who are here, those who are gone, and those who are lost." She clinked her glass against Mom's.

We remember the missing as much as the lost.

There will be days -- even years from now -- when the missing will be so sharp it takes your breath away.