Quotes About Remembrance

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again.

This is the painful part. Love doesn't leave you. Not all at once. It creeps back in, making you think it can be another way, that it can still be another way, and you have to remind yourself of the reasons that it probably won't be.

You can't ever really have enough worth that when you're gone, the spot you left won't close over.

I wish to remember the millions of Allied servicemen and prisoners of war who lived the story of the Second World War.

Remember me with smiles and laughter, for that is how I will remember you all. If you can only remember me with tears, then don't remember me at all.

Ten years. Ten years. Rachel missed her father every day. Not consciously, but his absence was a part of her, like a vine that wraps around a structure, sustains it even as it weakens it.

Is there a moment when you'll never be able to remember something again?" "No," said his wife. "Your mind will never lose anything forever that's worth keeping." She gave his temple a playful push, and he let his head fall to one side. "It's all in there.

IN SHAME AND SORROW CHRISTIANS KEEP IN MEMORY THE JEWISH CITIZENS OF THIS CITY. IN 1933, 4675 JEWS LIVED IN DRESDEN. IN 1945 IT WAS 70. WE WERE SILENT AS THEIR HOUSES OF WORSHIP BLAZED . . . WE DID NOT RECOGNIZE THEM AS OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS. WE ASK FOR FORGIVENESS.

Tobin turned to Angie. "I'm such an idiot. Why didn't you remind me?" She smiled drowsily. "That you're an idiot? Okay: you're an idiot." "Oh that's great, thanks," he said. She giggled.

2,668 people are still missing Nearly

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old.Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.At the going down of the sun, and in the morning,We shall remember them.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, We will remember them.

Driving home later that night, Dees lamented that young black people born after the end of the civil rights era knew almost nothing about those who had died so they could live freer lives. And those of the white race knew even less about one of the most important social

Alas, poor YORICK!

Sometimes there is only one thing left to say, P. S. I Love You....

I wake up in the morning and I feel like I'm missing something. I know that there's something not right, and it takes me a while to remember what it is . . . then I remember. My best friend is gone. My only friend. It was silly of me to rely so much on one person.

Memory is like a dog that lies down where it pleases.

I have carried that ring every moment of the last twelve years. I bought it the day after I first saw you at the ball. The ruby reminded me of the rose gleaming in your black hair." ~Lord Malcom Ashford

He pushed her in. And then he pulled her out. All her life, Lydia would remember one thing. All his life, Nath would remember another.

It would disappear forever from her memory of Lydia, the way memories of a lost loved one always smooth and simplify themselves, shedding complexities like scales.

Somewhere out there are people who still know her poems, who've hidden scraps of them away in the folds of their minds before setting match to the papers of their hands. He will find them. He will ask them what they remember. He will piece together their recollections, fragmentary and incomplete though they may be, mapping the holes of one against the solid patches of another. And in this way, piece by piece, he will set her back down on paper again.

It was too big to talk about, what had happened. It was like a landscape they could not see all at once; it was like the sky at night, which turned and turned so they couldn't find its edges. It would always feel too big. He pushed her in. And then he pulled her out. All her life, Lydia would remember one thing. All his life, Nath would remember another.

Today it strikes Bird as unbearably sad, to pass by and leave no trace of your existence. To

It struck her then, as if someone had said it aloud: her mother was dead, and the only thing worth remembering about her, in the end, was that she had cooked. Marilyn