Quotes About Remembrance

It was the nature of his profession that his experience with death should be greater than for most and he said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift

Man glömmer det man vill minnas och man minns det man vill glömma.

If I dont come back tell Mother I love her. Your mother's dead Llewelyn. Well I'll tell her myself then.

You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget

He said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift.

This is the house where the dead lived. It is gone, lost and gone.

No prince had lived in those wretched hovels, no red-robed bishops, only farmers and laborers whose stories no one had written down, and now they were lost, buried under wild thyme and fast growing spurge.

an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it … yes, books are like flypaper—memories cling to the printed page better than anything else." He

Ves esos nombres? -preguntó señalando las letras cinceladas que hablaban de personas ya desaparecidas-. Detrás de cada nombre hay una familia, una madre o un padre, hermanos, acaso una esposa. Si uno de ellos averiguara que es capaz de despertar esas letras a la vida, que podría volver a ser de carne y hueso lo que ahora es únicamente un nombre, ¿no crees que él o ella harían todo lo posible por conseguirlo?

Non far dimenticare all'altro chi era. Dell'amore faceva parte anche questo.

She felt as if the grave stones were whispering those names to her as she walked past... Those stones that bore no names seemed like closed mouths, sad mouths that forgotten how to speak. But perhaps the dead didn't mind what their names had once been?

History is a ghost story.

The war that killed my grandfather and great-uncles and thousands of other blacks is only a footnote in our history books.

She went on and on, until Jeff had a sense of family spreading out around them endlessly, and only an hour later, when she was lost in reminiscences, did he understand that the names she mentioned, the people she spoke of, were most of them long ago dead. The family spread not out and around, but back, back into time.

The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.

Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

They looked at each other and laughed, then looked away, filled with darkness and secrecy. Then they kissed and remembered the magnificence of the night. It was so magnificent, such an inheritance of a universe of dark reality, that they were afraid to seem to remember. They hid away the remembrance and the knowledge.

There's so much of you here with me, really, that it's a pity you aren't all here.

Libraries and museums owe their richest collections to people who cannot bear to think that their names might perish from the memory of the race.

The cult of remembrance of loved ones, absent or dead, offers a last refuge for the cult value of the picture.

Slim cunning hands at rest, and cozening eyes, Under this stone one loved too wildly lies; How false she was, no granite could declare; Nor all earth's flowers, how fair.

sounds as faint as the vanishing remembrance of voices in a dream

Monday, May 27: Memorial Day was sunny and warm.

Jobs had spent so many afternoons. Jony Ive had arranged for the table to be brought to the graveside. There were fifty or so family members and friends in attendance