Quotes About Remembrance

In the day of prosperity there is a forgetfulness of affliction: and in the day of affliction there is no more remembrance of prosperity.

For the hope of the ungodly is like dust that is blown away with the wind… and passeth away as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day.

This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.

Anonymous is really just a name for someone who had something great to say, but was not famous enough for anyone to remember their real name.

Life will always be forever But remember you will not So be remembered forever

People die but their good and bad memories live

Mony a one for him maks mane,But nane sall ken where he is gane:O'er his white banes, when they are bare,The wind sall blaw for evermair.

Dis manibus sacrum [Sacred to the departed spirit(s)].

These people live again in print as intensely as when their images were captured on old dry plates of sixty years ago... I am walking in their alleys, standing in their rooms and sheds and workshops, looking in and out of their windows. Any they in turn seem to be aware of me

And when a book goes out of the world, the memory dies a second death.

a book—is a resting place for the memories of people who have lived before. A way for the memory to stay fixed after the soul has traveled on.

When all you have is a shard of papyrus with a few words on it," Rex says, "or a single line quoted in somebody else's text, the potential of what's lost haunts you. It's like the boys who died in Korea. We grieve them the most because we never saw the men they would become." Zeno thinks of his father: how much easier it was to be a hero when you no longer walked the earth.

The war that killed your grandfather killed sixteen million others. One and a half million French boys alone, most of them younger than I was. Two million on the German side. March the dead in a single-file line, and for eleven days and eleven nights, they'd walk past our door.

She has had two lovers. The first was a visiting scientist who never returned, and the second was a Canadian named John who scattered things—ties, coins, socks, breath mints—around any room he entered.

Every hour, she thinks, someone for whom the war was memory falls out of the world. We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.

It's the absence of all the bodies, she thinks, that allows us to forget. It's that the sod seals them over.

It was love. He excavated a boot print she'd left on the snowy step outside his apartment and preserved it in his freezer.

Everybody has misplaced someone

When all you have is a shard of papyrus with a few words on it...or a single line quoted in somebody else's text, the potential of what's lost haunts you. It's like the boys who died in Korea. We grieve them the most because we never saw the men they would become....How much easier it was to be a hero when you no longer walked the earth.

she's hardly there: just morphine and glassy eyes and an odor that carries him back to Korea.

Somwhere across town she was standing at a sink or walking into a closet, his name stowed somewhere in the pleated neurons of her brain, echoing up one dendrite in a billion: David, David.

Tre ragazzi passano ridendo e Max li guarda con intensità. Su un muro butterato e chiazzato di licheni è fissata una piccola lapide di pietra. <>Ici a été tuè Buy Gaston Marcel agé de 18 ans, mort pour la France le 11 aout 1944. Jutta si siede per terra. Il mare è gonfio, grigio d'ardesia. Non ci sono lapidi per i tedeschi morti qui.

It's the absence of all the bodies, she thinks, that allows us to forget. It's that the sod seals them over.

Every hour, she thinks, someone for whom the war was memory falls out of the world.