Quotes About Remembrance

There is a broken song that plays over in my head each time I hear someone say his name.

Every word you have ever uttered, is engraved upon my heart.

just where they had left it at Christmas. They collected

Wherever I go, I'll always see you. You'll always be with me. And there's no happy ending coming here, no way a story that started on a night that's burned into my heart will end the way I wish it could. You're really gone, no last words, and no matter how many letters I write to you, you're never going to reply. You're never going to say good-bye. So I will. Good-bye, Julia. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being you.

I'd forgotten how much feelings hurt.

She became a story, one I have mostly forgotten. One I can't end because she died a long time ago.

I always thought of grief as a blow that took everything out of you. And it is like that. But it stays, past that first hard hit. It stays and blows its breath into you. It's always there, reminding you of what you've lost. What's gone.

I will always carry Mom in my heart. I will always miss her. I will always wish she was here.

Here is the thing that Cindy, for the rest of her life, would never forget: Olive Kitteridge said, "My God, but I have always loved the light in February." Olive shook her head slowly. "My God," she repeated, with awe in her voice. "Just look at that February light.

Isabelle, at different places and moments in the years to come, would sometimes be surrounded by silence and find in herself only the repeated word "Amy." "Amy, Amy"—for this was it, her heart's call, her prayer. "Amy," she would think, "Amy," remembering this day's chilly, golden air.

I don't know when we'll see each other again or what the world will be like when we do. We may both have seen many horrible things. But I will think of you every time I need to be reminded that there is beauty and goodness in the world.

At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone. It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out. You cannot read loss, only feel it.

The lesson Scott taught the modern world was that the past does not have to die or vanish: it can live on, in a nation's memory, and help to nourish its posterity.

That out of sight is out of mind is true of most we leave behind

an everlasting funeral marches round your heart.

It's a beautiful thing to refuse to forget...

el pasado nunca se borraba del todo

I've walked a long trail, a long trail of years flushed with tears. Tears of remembrance. Years of driven labor have not driven the ancestral thoughts out of me. My memory of teaching— surrounded by children, singing songs of our people, the stories of our history— lives always with me... Song shields our hearts from abuse, draws us together, strengthens our lives.

Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved.

Fame is a food that dead men eat—I have no stomach for such meat.

The house was an empty tank full of grief. Their empty ghosts floated everywhere they were not.

September 11, 2001: Citizens of the U.S., besieged by terror's sting, rose up, weeping glory, as if on eagles' wings.--from the poem Angel of Remembrance: Candles for September 11, 2001

Charles had not lived. So lately dead that the pain was still the pain of separation and not of total absence, his memory lay against her heart.