Quotes About Remembrance

When loved ones depart forever, all that remains is the light from their eyes trapped in their jewelry. Beyond memory, it is the only souvenir we ever keep.

Who's the other kid in the photo?' he asked. 'The sandy-haired guy.' Annabeth's expression tightened. Touchy subject. 'That's Luke,' she said. 'He's dead now.

Beckendorf closed eyes tight and brought his hand up to his watch. from that distance, the explosion shook the world. Heat seared the back of my head. The Princess Andromeda blew up from both sides, a massive fireball of green flame roiling into the dark sky, consuming everything....I stared out the window into deep blue water. Beckendorf was supposed to go to college in the fall. He had a girlfriend, lots of friends, his whole life ahead of him. He couldn't be gone.

I missed him so much I would sometimes turn to tell him something before I forgot he was gone. In spite of all that, and all the emotion boiling around inside me, all I could think of to say was: "You're blue.

provides a handy and interesting passage to the Holocaust memorial

Jimmy, the baby produced to celebrate the peace after the war to end all wars, was about to fight in another one.

Everyone remembered Lord Lucan's name, but hardly anyone remembered Sandra Rivett, the nanny he clubbed to death. The wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Gabrielle Mason and her children, also mostly forgotten by the collective memory. Who could name one of the Yorkshire Ripper's victims? Or the Wests'? The forgotten dead. Victims faded, murderers lived on in the memory, only the police kept the eternal flame alight, passing it on as the years went by.

Ursula found herself dwelling on Hugh's death, his absence more than his death.

Much good may honour do them when they're dead

Their names written on water. Or scorched into the earth. Or atomized into the air. Legion.

We must remember these people when we are safely in the future.

I hope you won't completely forget me.

Do you think everybody misses somebody? Like I miss my mama?" "Mmmm-hmmm," said Gloria. She closed her eyes. "I believe, sometimes, that the whole world has an aching heart.

Edward knew what it was like to say over and over again the names of those you had left behind. He knew what it was like to miss someone. And so he listened. And in his listening, his heart opened wide and then wider still.

She was working to remind herself of who she was. She was working to remember that, somewhere, in another place entirely, she was known and loved.

Poetry was nothing but words to say over a grave, something to throw into a hole in the ground.

Die Toten hinterlassen ihre Schatten, einen Nachhall des Raumes, den sie einst bewohnten. Sie suchen uns heim, werden nie schwächer oder älter als wir. Wir betrauern nicht nur den Verlust ihrer Zukunft, sondern auch den der unseren.

What we leave behind in this life is the memory of who we were and what we did. An imprint, no more. I have learned much. I have become wise. But have I made a difference? I cannot tell.

That which was and is no more is hidden treasure.

But, deep in her heart she knew more than what the words read or heard seemed to say. She knew that every letter in every word in every war bulletin was, somewhere, first written in blood of men, of human beings, who had once smiled and sung songs, eaten, drunk, slept and loved.

You die twice. Once when your heart stops beating and again when your name is spoken for the last time.

Death always leaves one singer to mourn.

They gave Jesse all of Leslie's books and her paint set with three pads of real watercolor paper.

He lived long enough to give the chaplain his name—John Goetchius—but died before he could tell the kind man where his home was.