Quotes About Remembrance

Learning to read and write disables the oral poet, Lord found: it introduces into his mind the concept of a text as controlling the narrative and thereby interferes with the oral composing processes, which have nothing to do with texts but are 'the remembrance of songs sung

I'm sorry he's dead but I am happier, by far, that he lived.

Non omnis moriar

A large stone was then lowered down on the grave, and covered the moderate space now sufficient for the man for whom Europe was once too little.

the widows of the slain, to the number of eleven score, in deep mourning, riding upon white palfreys, and each bearing her husband's bloody shirt on a spear, appeared

Make peace with silence, and remind yourself that it is in this space that you'll come to remember your spirit. When you're able to transcend an aversion to silence, you'll also transcend many other miseries. And it is in this silence that the remembrance of God will be activated.

every victory accomplished with weapons is a funeral that should be mourned.

The memory of God comes to the quiet mind. It cannot come where there is conflict; for a mind at war against itself remembers not eternal gentleness. . . . What you remember is a part of you. For you must be as God created you. . . . Let all this madness be undone for you, and turn in peace of the remembrance of God, still shining in your quiet mind.

May 4, 1970—the same day as the horror show at Kent State University in Ohio, where four students were killed

New grief, when it came, you could feel filling the air. It took up all the room there was. The place itself, the whole place, became a reminder of the absence of the hurt or the dead or the missing one. I don't believe that grief passes away. It has its time and place forever. More time is added to it; it becomes a story within a story. But grief and griever alike endure.

TO LIVE IN HEARTS WE LEAVE BEHIND IS NOT TO DIE

On the 70th anniversary of Auschwitz, mourning dead Jews is easy. And, forgive me, cheap. Want to truly honor the dead? Show solidarity with the living—Israel and its six million Jews. Make "never again" more than an empty phrase. It took Nazi Germany seven years to kill six million Jews. It would take a nuclear Iran one day.

I want people to have more to say about me after I'm gone than, 'He was a nice guy...he chased sticks!' —Snoopy

The west is dead. You may lose a sweetheart but you never forget her.

Memory, all-night's bedside tattoo artist.

Now he realized that somehow those who had served in France and elsewhere knew a world that couldn't be shared. How could he tell his sister—or even his father, if the elder Rutledge was still alive—what had been done on bloody ground far from home? It would be criminal to fill their minds with scenes that no one should have to remember. No one.

We walked away from all that was warm and dear and stood frightened in cold rain where the guns fired, and in the end, we died in pain, the black stinking mud our shroud, embraced at last not by living arms, but by the bones of those who before us died …

I write your name for the last time in this mist, White breath on the windowpane, And watch it vanish. No, it stays there.

Memory is a cemetery I've visited once or twice

THIS IS WHERE ARRAN HARPER FELL. WE DON'T KNOW THE DAY OR THE DATE, BUT WE'LL NEVER FORGET IT. HE WAS THE BRAVEST OF US ALL.

After Arran died we could've fallen apart. But we didn't. Because you held it together. "Arran Lives" - you remember that?" "I remember." "He lived in you, Max. You done well. I like you. You're cool.

A Quoi Bon Dire" Seventeen years ago you said Something that sounded like Good-bye; And everybody thinks that you are dead, But I. So I, as I grow stiff and cold To this and that say Good-bye too; And everybody sees that I am old But you. And one fine morning in a sunny lane Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear That nobody can love their way again, While over there You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.

...Thus in each flower and simple bell, That in our path untrodden lie, Are sweet remembrancers who tell How fast the winged moments fly. Time will steal on with ceaseless pace, Yet lose we not the fleeting hours, Who still their fairy footsteps trace, As light they dance among the flowers.

Except for the memories of his daughter and his son it was already as though he had never existed.