Quotes About Memorial

Here lies the body of my good horse, The General. For years he bore me around the circuit of my practice and all that time he never made a blunder. Would that his master could say the same.

To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.

We must never allow September 11th to become a time for protest and division. Instead, this day must remain a time for promoting peace and mutual respect.

The Holocaust is a sacred subject. One should take off one's shoes when entering its domain, one should tremble each time one pronounces the word.

When I die, they might as well bury me at the finish line at Churchill Downs so they can run over me one more time.

Reynolds was thirty-three and healthy and beautiful when she died on December 16, 1998.

God only knows how many people, what families down the ages, have given their lives for their country. Don't try telling them now that they did it for an unworthy cause.

There is an arch supported by four vast columns. Etched over hundreds and hundreds of yards of stone, furlongs of stone, there are names: Who are these, these? The men who died in this battle? No. The lost, the ones they did not find. The others are in the cemeteries. These are just the ... the unfound. When she could speak again. From the whole war? The man shook his head. Just these fields. Elizabeth sat on the steps. No one told me. My God no one told me

A man of scholarly accomplishment is inexpressibly splendid. Though he may be of dreadfully lowly rank and no joy to look at, he fills you with awe and envy at the way he can spend time in the presence of those at the very highest levels, as their tutor,4 and be called on by them for scholarly consultations. It's also splendid to see him praised for his preparation of a dedicatory prayer, or a memorial presented to the throne, or some preface to poetry.

the Jallianwala Bagh massacre.

If I shouldn't be alive When the Robins come, Give the one in Red Cravat, A Memorial crumb.

I think you should live your life so that the maximum number of people will attend your funeral.

In de muur tegenover die waar alle andere namen gegraveerd stonden, zag ze één enkele naam, en die was duidelijk niet Skandisch. Het was ook geen mannennaam. Lydia keek er uitgebreid naar. 'Evanlyn.

TO THE FALLEN Sleep my sons, your duty done For Freedom's light has come. Sleep in the silent depths of the sea Or in your bed of hallowed sod Until you hear at dawn the low, Clear reveille of God.

Deeds, not stones, are the true monuments of the great.

Of the approximately 4,000 runic inscriptions, most are from the Viking Age; most of these are from Sweden; and most of these are from the provinces around Lake Mälaren, especially Uppland. Most are memorial: They explain who erected the stone, whose death is memorialized, and what the relationship was between the two.

As America celebrates Memorial Day, we pay tribute to those who have given their lives in our nation's wars.

In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row.

In Flanders fields the poppies grow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place, and in the sky, The larks, still bravely singing, fly, Scarce heard amid the guns below.

Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

Eli Goldratt passed away at his home in Israel on June 11th, 2011, in the company of his family and close friends.

Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed Beauty without Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues of Man without his Vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery, if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just Tribute to the Memory of BOATSWAIN, a Dog.

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.