#remembrance

It takes a huge effort to free yourself from memory ↗

— Paulo Coelho

#remembrance #inspirational

Nothing is more consuming, or more illogical, than the desire for remembrance. ↗

— Ellen Glasgow

#desire #illogical #more #nothing #remembrance

Melody is a form of remembrance. It must have a quality of inevitability in our ears. ↗

— Gian Carlo Menotti

#form #inevitability #melody #must #our

There is no death, daughter. People die only when we forget them,' my mother explained shortly before she left me. 'If you can remember me, I will be with you always. ↗

— Isabel Allende

#remembrance #death

Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken? ↗

— Terry Pratchett

#immortality #remembrance #death

I miss your face. That big bright smile. You always had it, in any weather. It's hard for me to find one these days. These cold November days. Except when I think of you. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#dying #grief #grieving #loss #love

He wore the memory of her embrace like armor, and though he knew it would not save his life, it would be all that was left to him to ease his passage into whatever lay beyond. ↗

— Andrew Levkoff

#life-and-death #love #love-and-dying #love-and-loss #love-and-memory

There is in this valley a beating heart. It is always and ever there. And when I am gone, it will beat for you and when you are gone, it will beat for your children and theirs, forever. Forever. Until there is no water, no air, no green in the spring or gold in the autumn, no stars in the sky or wind from the north. And when you cannot speak, it will speak for you. When you cannot see, it will be your eyes. When you cannot remember, it will be your memory. It will never forget you. And when you cannot be faithful, it will save a place for your return. This is a gift to you. It cannot be taken away. It is yours forever. It is the narrative of this world, and the scrapbook of your own small life, and, when you are gone into ash and darkness and the grave, it will tell your story. ↗

— Robert Goolrick

#remembrance #faith

What's strange about the whole thing is that although it's riddled with nonsense, altogether it's true - Julie's told our story, mine and hers, our friendship, so truthfully. It is us. We even had the same dream at the same time. How could we have had the same dream at the same time? How can something so wonderful and mysterious be true? But it is. And this, even more wonderful and mysterious, is also true: when I read it, when I read what Julie's written, she is instantly alive again, whole and undamaged. With her words in my mind while I'm reading, she is as real as I am. Gloriously daft, drop-dead charming, full of bookish nonsense and foul language, brave and generous. She's right here. Afraid and exhausted, alone, but fighting. Flying in silver moonlight in a plane that can't be landed, stuck in the climb - alive, alive, ALIVE. ↗

— Elizabeth Wein

#reading #remembrance #dreams

If Conrad remembered the skinny, frightened girl he'd held for one brief moment on a frigid Boston street corner, he showed no signs of it when we met ... Even as I tried to urge hum back against the pillows, he looked at me with wild eyes. "What happened to your leather jacket?" he asked. "Shh," I said, trying to sooth him. "There's no leather jacket." "You were wearing it the first time I saw you," he said, frowning slightly. ↗

— Lauren Oliver

#conrad #love #remembrance #love