#memo

And it sort of jogged a memory of something that I read at school and I read it, and I thought God this is it. So you never can tell. I could find something this afternoon. ↗

— Andrew Lloyd Webber

#could #find #god #i #memory

From 1971 onwards, the Memorial Day holiday was officially observed on the last Monday in May and became the unofficial start of the summer, with barbecues, blockbuster movie openings and mattress sales. ↗

— Allen West

#became #blockbuster #day #holiday #last

Each in the most hidden sack kept the lost jewels of memory, intense love, secret nights and permanent kisses, the fragment of public or private happiness. A few, the wolves, collected thighs, other men loved the dawn scratching mountain ranges or ice floes, locomotives, numbers. For me happiness was to share singing, praising, cursing, crying with a thousand eyes. I ask forgiveness for my bad ways: my life had no use on earth. ↗

— Pablo Neruda

#love #memory #pablo-neruda #poetry #forgiveness

We will not allow this day of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial to go without somebody going to jail. ↗

— Cornel West

#day #go #going #jail #jr

I shot Footloose nearby, and we used to hike. Very fond memories. ↗

— Dianne Wiest

#fond memories #footloose #hike #i #memories

Alison's grandfather told her,'To err is human, to forgive divine ↗

— Diane Griffith

#famly-secrets #friendships #fun-filled #love #poignant

The Lincoln Memorial is related to the toga and the civilization that wore it. ↗

— Frank Lloyd Wright

#lincoln #memorial #related #wore

Family holidays and weekends are really brightly colored memories, full of my mother and father, rather than our nannies and au pairs. ↗

— Olivia Williams

#colored #family #father #full #holidays

Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quickly you hardly catch it going. ↗

— Tennessee Williams

#except #goes #going #hardly #life

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

#age