Memorial Quotes

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.
From an Irish headstone”
― Richard Puz, The Carolinian

“Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we're still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It's all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply attention, of any kind we can get?
At the very least we want a witness. We can't stand the idea of our own voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

“When our thoughts are stammering in our mind, and memorial failure dumbs down our passion for life, a deep dive in the brainwaves can be the lever that lifts our sense of self. ("Walking down the memory lane" )”
― Erik Pevernagie

“Growing up, I always had a soldier mentality. As a kid I wanted to be a soldier, a fighter pilot, a covert agent, professions that require a great deal of bravery and risk and putting oneself in grave danger in order to complete the mission. Even though I did not become all those things, and unless my predisposition, in its youngest years, already had me leaning towards them, the interest that was there still shaped my philosophies. To this day I honor risk and sacrifice for the good of others - my views on life and love are heavily influenced by this.”
― Criss Jami, Healology

“For The Fallen"
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, 
England mourns for her dead across the sea. 
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, 
Fallen in the cause of the free. 
Solemn the drums thrill; 
Death august and royal 
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres, 
There is music in the midst of desolation 
And a glory that shines upon our tears. 

They went with songs to the battle, they were young, 
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. 
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted; 
They fell with their faces to the foe. 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. 
At the going down of the sun and in the morning 
We will remember them. 

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; 
They sit no more at familiar tables of home; 
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time; They sleep beyond England's foam. 

But where our desires are and our hopes profound, 
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight, 
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known 
As the stars are known to the Night; 
As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, 
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain; 
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, 
To the end, to the end, they remain. ”
― Lawrence Binyon

“The effects of loss are acute, and unique to each individual. Not everyone mourns in the same way, but everyone mourns.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year

“As individuals die every moment, how insensitive and fabricated a love it is to set aside a day from selfish routine in prideful, patriotic commemoration of tragedy. Just as God is provoked by those who tithe simply because they feel that they must tithe, I am provoked by those who commemorate simply because they feel that they must commemorate.”
― Criss Jami, Killosophy

“This country has not seen and probably will never know the true level of sacrifice of our veterans. As a civilian I owe an unpayable debt to all our military. Going forward let’s not send our servicemen and women off to war or conflict zones unless it is overwhelmingly justifiable and on moral high ground. The men of WWII were the greatest generation, perhaps Korea the forgotten, Vietnam the trampled, Cold War unsung and Iraqi Freedom and Afghanistan vets underestimated. Every generation has proved itself to be worthy to stand up to the precedent of the greatest generation. Going back to the Revolution American soldiers have been the best in the world. Let’s all take a remembrance for all veterans who served or are serving, peace time or wartime and gone or still with us. 11/11/16 May God Bless America and All Veterans.”
― Thomas M Smith

“She would die, and maybe everyone would forget that she had ever lived.”
― Amy Zhang, Falling into Place

“I shouldn't have taken a vow of silence, I told myself. What did I want? Nothing much. Just a memorial. But what is a memorial, when you come right down to it, but a commemoration of wounds endured? Endured, and resented. Without memory, there can be no revenge.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

“The song ended, but people wouldn't let him go. It was a blur after that; he had to do four more songs before they let him leave the stage. Two lines of people formed on either side of the stage, so he wouldn't have to move around. We all knew this was goodbye, and we were giving him his flowers now, while he could see how much he meant to all of us.”
― Ruth Coker Burks, All The Young Men

“They fought together as brothers in arms
They died together and now they sleep side by side
To them we have a solemn obligation
The obligation to ensure that their sacrifice will help
To make this a better and safer world in which to live.”
― Chester Nimitz

“I thought I saw you today, but that was just hope. I heard the sound of your voice in the last wave of an echo. And every day I wake knowing you are no
longer here, is another day I must try my best to live as though you are.”
― Broms The Poet, Feast

“As if on cue, a line of silhouettes emerged from behind a desert scrub—shapes that moved like cats. They wandered through the landscape of corpses, touching each with a gentle nudge. They grew closer, and it became clear that Chuluum was leading the other cats on their sorrowful homage, giving the fallen librarians the honor they deserved.”
― Rahma Krambo, Guardian Cats and the Lost Books of Alexandria

“He hadn't woken a day since my death when the day wasn’t something to get through. But the truth was, the memorial service day was not the worst kind. At least it was honest. At least it was a day shaped around what they were so preoccupied by: my absence. Today he would not have to pretend he was getting back to normal—whatever normal was.”
― Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones

“Life is the struggle of delaying death.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“It isn't knowing, but remembering, that makes us create.”
― Amanda Gorman, Call Us What We Carry

“I don't want to be memorized for everyone. I want to stay real,endless and inchangeable for my parents, kids and their descendants.”
― Alexander Zalan, Petals of Decades

“The high courage and the supreme sacrifice of Americans who gave their lives in battle have made it possible for our land to flourish under freedom and justice.”
― John F. Kennedy

“We are born old enough to die.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“Há dois deveres em relação à nossa arquitetura nacional cuja importância é impossível superestimar: o primeiro, tornar a arquitetura atual, histórica; e o segundo, preservar, como a mais preciosa de todas as heranças, aquela das épocas passadas. É em relação à primeira dessas duas orientações que a Memória pode ser verdadeiramente considerada como a Sexta Lâmpada da Arquitetura.”
― John Ruskin, The Lamp of Memory

“Life gets half of its beauty from death.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“We all die having lived a full life, even those who die while they are being born.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“We cannot be too young to die.”
― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

“I was in search
but could not find the missing
until I saw the field of poppies”
― Nanette L. Avery

“Andrei rested on a bench directly in front of a grave that belonged to: 'A father, hard worker, and beloved friend.' He leaned back, resting in the cemetery, and with each second, his desire to know more about this man

'Yeah, he’s a father, hard worker, and beloved friend. Weren’t we all at some point? What’s his kink? The worst thing he’s done to a person? The greatest thing he’s good at?' he thought. That’s what Andrei wanted to know. Not titles the man himself would disapprove of. What good was a proper impression in a cemetery filled with thousands of proper impressions? One must be indecent. So Andrei closed his eyes and imagined the father who worked hard and was a beloved friend. Maybe his kink was that he needed to do it in public—in the restroom after a date or at church during mass. Maybe the worst thing he had ever done was work so hard for his family that he never once saw them. Maybe the best thing he was good at was giving gifts to his friends. Yes, that’s it. He never gave money or handed them gift cards, but instead gave his brothers exactly what filled them the most. One year, he gave a notebook to his buddy John with the same line written over and over in painful cursive. The line said: 'Happy Birthday, you get thirteen hours of my life' and repeated until you could see the traces of hand cramps squiggling for life on the forty-second page.

'What a good man,' imagined Andrei. 'Hell of a mate.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, A Happy Ghost

“That's the trouble with planting live thing to remember the dead; sometimes what you plant doesn't live as long as you'd like either.”
― Meagan Church, The Last Carolina Girl

“It is always easier, particularly in what was once a deeply religious country, to erect memorials and deliver sermons than to look the angel of history directly in the face.”
― Ian Buruma, Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance

“God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, forget not their son who calls upon them now.

You well know, You, source of all memory, that to forget is to abandon, to forget is to repudiate. Do not abandon me, God of my fathers, for I've never repudiated You.

God of Israel, do not cast out a son of Israel who yearns with all his heart and all his soul to be linked to the history of Israel.

God and King of the universe, exile me not from that universe.

As a child I learned to revere You, to love You, to obey You; keep me from forgetting the child that I was.

As an adolescent I chanted the litanies of the martyrs of Mainz and York; erase them not from my memory, You who erase nothing from Your own.

As a man I learned to respect the will of our dead; Keep me from forgetting what I learned.

God of my ancestors, let the bond between them and me remain whole, unbroken.

You who have chosen to dwell in Jerusalem, let me not forget Jerusalem. You who wander with your people in exile, let me remember them.

God of Auschwitz, know that I must remember Auschwitz. And that I must remind you of it. God of Treblinka, let the sound of that name make me, and You, tremble now and always. God of Belzec, let me, and You, weep for the victims of Belzec.

You who share are suffering, You who share our weight, let me never be far from those who have invited You into their hearts.

You who foresee the future of man, let me not cut myself off from my past.

God of justice, be just to me. God of charity, be kind to me. God of mercy, plunge me not into the kaf-ha-kallah, the chasm where all life, hope and light are extinguished by oblivion. God of truth, Remember that without memory truth becomes only the mask of truth. Remember that only memory leads man back to the source of his longing for You.

Remember, God of history, that You created man to remember. You put me into the world, You spared me in time of danger and death, That I might testify.

What sort of witness would I be without my memory?
Know, God, that I do not wish to forget you. I do not wish to forget anything. Not the living and not the dead. Not the voices and not the silences. I do not wish to forget the moments of abundance that enriched my life, nor the hours of anguish that drove me to despair.

Even if you forget me, O Lord, I refuse to forget You.”
― Elie Wiesel, The Forgotten

“But this is where fact and fiction diverge, because Cecily and Zimmy did have a child, a son, Jeremy, who is my father. Cecily and Zimmy remained happily married for fifty-three years. My grandpa died in 1987; Grandma survived him by nearly two decades. She died peacefully in her sleep, at home, at the age of one hundred, shortly after welcoming her first great-granddaughter into the world (and receiving a birthday card from the queen).
Unlike the eponymous Cecily, in real life, Cecily was good-natured, though she did complain of boredom a lot. She adored art, food, and books and always encouraged me to write. This is not the first time she has been featured in a work of fiction. Prior to Miss Cecily's Recipes for Exceptional Ladies, I published four novels under the pseudonym Stella Newman. In my first, the bestseller, Pear Shaped, the heroine's grandmother is based on Cecily. I suspect she'd have been pleased about that, and even more pleased to be taking center stage now.
I was privileged to have her as a grandmother.”
― Vicky Zimmerman, Miss Cecily's Recipes for Exceptional Ladies