Quotes About Remembrance

Slightly less time than it takes one woman to make one life, they managed to snuff out a million and a half lives.

No quiero olvidarme de este niño –pensó–, por si alguna vez necesito volver a su lado.»

You will find a way to live without me. You will find a way to live for both of us,' Alexander said to Tatiana as the swelling Kama River flowed from the Ural Mountains through a pine village named Lazarevo, once when they were in love, and young.

My love for you won't stop with my leaving. Come an evening over the years, when you step outside your door and hear the wind blowing through the cottonwoods, that'll be me, thinking of you, whispering your name, and loving you.

In case you forgot, my name is Zach Wells. It would not be so strange or awfully bad if you had forgotten.

Why will I bury you? So that one day I might disturb your grave.

Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory;Odors, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the beloved's bed;And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on.

I weep for Adonais [John Keats]—he is dead!Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tearsThaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose-leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory —

Alas! that all we loved of him should be,But for our grief, as if it had not been,And grief itself be mortal!

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Music, when soft voices die, vibrates in the memory.

Music, When Soft Voices Die Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

Zinzendorf. . .asked God to remind him of Christ's suffering whenever he might be inclined to wander away from his first love.

The dead live in our memories.

For nearly two years, Bert had been taking care of Susan Branaman, who was dying of cancer. ... When she died, Bert held a wake for her. Her body had been cremated, and her remains sat out in bowls. The bereaved guests snorted the ashes, like they snorted coke.

Our prime minister could embrace and forgive the people who killed our beloved sons and fathers, and so he should, but he could not, would not, apologise to the Aboriginal people for 200 years of murder and abuse. The battle against the Turks, he said in Gallipoli, was our history, our tradition. The war against the Aboriginals, he had already said at home, had happened long ago. The battle had made us; the war that won the continent was best forgotten

What's fame, after all? It can be what someone writes on your tombstone.

It was the love. The name was a code, a cipher for the love you carried with you until you yourself were gone and your remembering was done.

I was seven when he hung himself, and I don't remember all that much, and anything I did remember, I've managed to forget.

Remember me," whispers the dust.

I will remember My covenant between Me and you and every living creature of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.

But Lotís wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.