Remembering Loved Ones Quotes

“On those we love:
"Every year that passed, it seemed a little more of her had slipped away; and I began to fear that one day I would come to forget her altogether. But the truth is: No matter how much time passes, those we have loved never slip away from us entirely.”
― Amor Towles, A Gentleman in Moscow

“If we knew a person was going to die, we'd hold harder to the memories."

Fire corrected him, in a whisper. "The good memories.”
― Kristin Cashore, Fire

“No matter how many times you say you'll give up with words, if your heart still says "love", there's nothing to be done.”
― Io Sakisaka

“How shall I remember thee? As a drop of eternal summer, or a blossom of tender spring? As a spark of autumn's stirring fire, or perhaps as the frost of winter's longest night? No, it shall not be as one of these, for these shall all come to pass, and you and I, though parted by sea and earth, will never fade.”
― Rebecca Ross, The Queen's Rising

“Heaven left a hole in your heart.

But it’s up to you to choose if that hole will be filled with pain, anger, and the eternal darkness of loss . . .
Or if you will choose to fill it with light and love and have that hole shine out of you like a spotlight into your life, keeping their memory alive . . .

{It’s up to you.}”
― Tessa Shaffer, Heaven Has No Regrets

“This is me being sad.
Maybe you think I'm being happy in this picture. Really I'm being sad but pretending I'm being happy. I'm doing that because I think people won't like me if I look sad.”
― Michael Rosen

“After you are gone, people may forget most of what you have said and done. But they will remember that you loved them.”
― Steve Goodier

“I am left with pieces of remembering though I loved him whole.”
― Ellen Oh, A Thousand Beginnings and Endings

“Well, memory can play tricks. Most people, I think, tend to remember the good rather than the bad when someone close to them dies.”
― Soheir Khashoggi, Nadia's Song

“My dad’s life was magnificent, but only if I let myself see and remember more than his years of decline.”
― Lisa J. Shultz, A Chance to Say Goodbye: Reflections on Losing a Parent

“We never think what we'll miss about them before a person is gone. It is only after, in the hollow of their absence, that we realize it is the simple things we crave, like the sound of a voice, the warmth of a touch, a smile of happiness, and most of all simply their presence.”
― Jenny Knipfer, Ruby Moon

“Not the slow Hearse, where nod the sable plumes,     
The Parian Statue, bending o'er the Urn,     
The dark robe floating, the dejection worn     
On the dropt eye, and lip no smile illumes;
Not all this pomp of sorrow, that presumes     
It pays Affection's debt, is due concern     
To the FOR EVER ABSENT, tho' it mourn
Fashion's allotted time. If Time consumes,
While Life is ours, the precious vestal-flame     
Memory shou'd hourly feed;—if, thro' each day,     
She with whate'er we see, hear, think, or say,
Blend not the image of the vanish'd Frame,     
O! can the alien Heart expect to prove,
In worlds of light and life, a reunited love!”
― Anna Seward, Original sonnets on various subjects; and odes paraphrased from Horace

“The most profound life lesson I have learned from 15 years of psychic mediumship work, is how quickly and easily people are forgotten once they depart this life. Yet, so many of us live only to please or impress others while we are here.”
― Anthon St. Maarten

“She likes to write messages on balloons and send them to the sky. She takes out a black Magic Marker and she starts writing on the dozen or so balloons, one for each member of our family who died. She doesn't think she can write well and asks me not to read her notes.

She likes to think they'll soar all the way to heaven. I think she knows they end up tangled in power lines or deflated in a pile of orange leaves in someone's backyard miles away, but I can never bring myself to say that to her. I've often wondered what they must think, those people who find our balloons. I've wondered if they read the messages and understand what they mean.

I remember watching those balloons as a little boy, each fall, wondering if someday I, too, would be nothing but a balloon in the sky, soaring toward the sun until I began to fall slowly back to earth and into the hands of a stranger.”
― Kenny Porpora, The Autumn Balloon

“But I suppose it's part of being old to feel that way, half in one world and half in the other, all of it mixed together in my mind. No one's left who even knows my name. Folks call me Auntie, on account of I never could have children of my own, and I guess that suits me fine. Sometime it's like I've got so many people inside of me I'm never alone at all. And when I go, I'll be taking them with me.”
― Justin Cronin, A Passagem - Volume I

“Here's how you think about it: Together you constructed many things throughout your life. Then her body disappeared, but the constructions still remain. Human beings die: That's natural. But to accept her death is to lose all hope.”
― Michael Paterniti

“I release ribbons of gratitude to flow back upon the path I have walked as it stretches out behind me, so they brush past everyone whose path crossed my own. May they feel the brief kiss of remembrance within their hearts, there and then gone again, passing like a spring breeze, so that they suddenly know the things they have done for others, in so many ways big and small, seen and unseen alike, somewhere are known and treasured.”
― Cristen Rodgers

“The only way anyone can hope to live after death is if he leaves something that posterity can remember him for.”
― Bangambiki Habyarimana

“Of suddenly remembering what was lost.”
― George Saunders, Lincoln in the Bardo

“Now he must get back to Margaret. In the old days, he used to come home full of tales about deliveries, excited, even exalted by having witnessed the same old miracle. But after they lost both their sons in the war, she couldn't stand to hear about any of that and he kept it to himself. She had become a shadow, acquiescent, passive, full of humdrum little remarks about the house and the weather and how hard he was on his clothes, and then he'd bought her a puppy, and she talked endlessly about that. It had become a fat spoiled dog, and still she talked about it as though it were a puppy. It was all he could think to do for her, as his grief had never been allowed to be on par with hers. He kept that to himself as well. But when he was alone in the car like this, and with a drop of whisky inside him, he thought about Ian and Donald who were never spoken of at home, who would, he felt, be entirely forgotten except for his own memory and their names on the village monument.”
― Elizabeth Jane Howard, The Light Years

“I won't even be a ghost to her”
― Adam Silvera, They Both Die at the End

“The priest pointed to the sky, and all eyes turned to the bright comet streaking across their vision. It burned with a stunning white blue nucleus and a shimmering tail of silver and red. It was still small, but larger than the day I first saw it, the day of Bartolomeo's funeral. The crowd murmured exclamations of fear.
I did not feel afraid when I gazed at the comet. I felt only the warmth of Bartolomeo's light. I could no think of the orb as anything other than his presence shining into our world from the one above. I thought of the type of salad he might have served- it might have been bitter chicory, true, but sweetened with fennel and pea shoots, drizzled with a bit of oil and vinegar, mixed with some sugar and spices, and topped with a little pepper or cheese.”
― Crystal King, The Chef's Secret

“Mauve took in the scenery of the well-lit night. The moon’s rays highlighted the crashing waves below the cliff.
“The moon is so silver and full tonight,” she commented.
She didn’t know how to offer comfort to Jenay. As a mother, her heart must be breaking too for her son, who was so far away on foreign soil.
A thought hit her. “Perhaps Oshki is looking at the same moon tonight.”
Jenay turned her head, her dark, amber eyes pools of tears. She reached out and grasped Mauve’s hand. Mauve held her mother-in- law’s hand firmly.
“What a comforting thought.” A slight smile twitched at Jenay’s lips, and she turned to look fully out the glass.”
― Jenny Knipfer, Silver Moon

“I hate running into people. They take the random places. That door over there. Fuck that door. It was an hour before class on the first day and Justin came out right as I was walking in. Bumped in and scared the ba- Jesus out of me and every time I walked into that door, I remembered him. For four years that space belonged to that moment. It’s like everywhere we walk, all we see internally is a landmark of people and moments you’ll never have again.”
― Karl Kristian Flores, The Goodbye Song

“For those who leave never to return, for those who return but never the same...we remember" wear the symbol proudly and show respect. We all are enjoying these days because of their sacrifices... Wishing peace for them and their loved ones. Live a life with respect and honor. Value those who care for you as you never know...make it happen...go love your family and tell them you love them.”
― Guru Z.S. Gill

“There’s something special about visiting a graveyard. Both life and death meet together in time. We see the members of a community and a lineage that, while not always perfect, are a part of us all. In remembering, we re-member ourselves together as members of each other, as the inheritance of people that we did not know, connected together, even beyond time.”
― Eric overby

“Och så länge han tänker på mig, finns jag.”
― Marc Levy

“I've had a heap o' comfort all my life makin' quilts, and now in my old age I wouldn't take a fortune for 'em. Set down here, child, where you can see out o' the winder and smell the lilacs, and we'll look at 'em all. You see, some folks has albums to put folks' pic tures in to remember :em by, and some folks has a book and writes down the things that happen every day so they won't forgit 'em; but, honey, these quilts is my albums and my di'ries, and whenever the weather's bad and I can't git out to see folks, I jest spread out my quilts and look at 'em and study over 'em, and it's jest like goin' back fifty or sixty years and livin' my life over agin.

"There ain't nothin' like a piece o' caliker for bringin' back old times, child, unless it's a flower or a bunch o'thyme or a piece o' pennyroy'l — anything that smells sweet. Why, I can go out yonder in the yard and gether a bunch o' that purple lilac and jest shut my eyes and see faces I ain't seen for fifty years, and somethin' goes through me like a flash o' lightnin', and it seems like I'm young agin jest for that minute.”
― Eliza Calvert Hall

“MORE ON THIS TIDY STORY AS IT UNFOLDS
“Here are your sheets, Mom, warm from the dryer. I’ll make us some lunch while you fold.”
Elsie knew not to do everything for her mother because getting her mother active would help her blood circulation and help dispel the swelling in her feet. She dropped the armload of laundry on the ottoman beside her mother’s lounger.
“I can’t fold sheets alone. Help me with these.”
Of course. What was she thinking? Elsie turned to grasp a couple corners of her mother’s queen-sized fitted sheet. “I need to relearn how to fold these things, anyway.”
Mother and daughter pulled and halved, tucked one corner inside another, and brought the ends together like partners in a square dance. Suddenly, Gail growled, “Oh!” Fed up, she grabbed the sheet from Elsie and wadded the whole thing into a roll. “I don’t remember how to do these things! Just stuff them into the linen closet, will you?” She laughed.
“Okay. I was hoping you’d teach me how to do it.”
“If you don’t know by sixty, daughter, it’s too late! My mom was always so good with linens. You should’a seen her linen closet. It was like the linen closets at Macy’s, all lined up. Mom took pride in her housekeeping, but I just don’t care anymore.”
Elsie was noticing how she no longer cared about much of anything either. The proverbial rug had been pulled out from under her, and though she went through the motions of taking Gail’s vitals, dispensing her meds and massaging her feet, they often had little to say to one another.
“Mom, why do you think the Bible says so often to remember this or remember that?”
“Does it?” Gail gasped, “—talk about remembering?”
― Lynn Byk, The Fearless Moral Inventory of Elsie Finch

“RECORDING THE PAST WITH A DULL PENCIL IS POINTLESS”
― Lynn Byk, The Fearless Moral Inventory of Elsie Finch