Quotes About Remembrance

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

I am Anne Rutledge who sleep beneath these weeds,Beloved in life of Abraham Lincoln.

I have a terrible memory; I never forget a thing.

He gave her that last word. He gave her his love. He would think of her almost every day for the rest of his life. Only his presence would he withhold.

But you were something more than young and sweet And fair, - and the long year remembers you.

Yet here one time your spirit was wont to move; Here might I hope to find you day or night, And here I come to look for you, my love, Even now, foolishly, knowing you are dead.

AUTUMN CHANT Now the autumn shudders In the rose's root, Far and wide the ladders Lean among the fruit. Now the autumn clambers Up the trellised frame And the rose remembers The dust from which it came. Brighter than the blossom On the rose's bough Sits the wizened, orange, Bitter berry now; Beauty never slumbers; All is in her name; But the rose remembers The dust from which it came.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

This book, when I am dead, will be A little faint perfume of me. People who knew me well will say, She really used to think that way.

Sabe que es lo peor de todo? Lo miré. No supe qué decir. - Que la voy olvidando. Le temblaba la voz. No cometí el desatino de interrumpirlo. - La pienso, y la pienso todo el día. Me despierto por la noche y me desvelo recordándola. Pero me pasa que tiendo a recordar siempre las mismas cosas. Las mismas imágenes. ¿Qué es lo que recuerdo, entonces? ¿A ella o al recuerdo que he construido en este año y pico que lleva muerta?

Remember Pearl Harbor.

Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

If tears could build a stairway, And memories a lane, I'd walk right up to Heaven And bring you home again.

This day [Passover] shall be unto you for a memorial; and ye shall keep it a feast to the Lord throughout your generations.

Happy We-Stole-Your-Land-and-Killed-Your-People Day!

There is a tavern in the town,And there my true love sits him down,And drinks his wine with laughter and with glee,And never, never thinks of me.

All these were honored in their generations, and were the glory of their times.There be of them, that have left a name behind them, that their praises might be reported.And some there be, which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born; and their children after them.

And they shall eat the flesh in that night, roast with fire, and unleavened bread; and with bitter herbs they shall eat it.

Their bodies are buried in peace; but their name liveth for evermore.

Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.

No burial this pretty pairOf any man receives,Till Robin Redbreast piouslyDid cover them with leaves.

When the dead is at rest, let his remembrance rest; and be comforted for him, when his spirit is departed from him.

Memories are stitched with love.

Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.