Memorial Stone Quotes
-
-
-
A poem should be palpable and mute. As a globed fruit. Dumb. As old medallions to the thumb. Silent as the sleeve-worn stone. Of casement ledges where the moss has grown -A poem should be wordless. As the flight of birds. A poem should be motionless in time. As the moon climbs. Leaving, as the moon releases. Twig by twig the night-entangled trees, Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves, Memory by memory the mind -A poem should be motionless in time. As the moon climbs. A poem should be...
Archibald MacLeish
The word landed with a stony thud Onto my still-beating breast. Nevermind, I was prepared, I will manage with the rest. I have a lot of work to do today; I need to slaughter memory, Turn my living soul to stone Then teach myself to live again. . . But how. The hot summer rustles Like a carnival outside my window; I have long had this premonition Of a bright day and a deserted house.
Anna Akhmatova
I cannot tell you what it is that guides us in this life; but for me, I fell toward the Chairman just as a stone must fall toward the earth. When I cut my lip and met Mr. Tanaka, when my mother died and I was cruelly sold, it was all like a stream that falls over rocky cliffs before it can reach the ocean. Even now that he is gone I have him still, in the richness of my memories.
Arthur Golden
The common where we had walked the previous evening was a deserted tract of land, typical of Surrey, looking as if it might be miles from any habitation, while only a few deciduous trees divided it from country studded with bungalows. Some of the land showed traces of heath fires, charred roots and stones lying about on the blackened ground. Walking there was not at all like being in the country. Agriculture seemed as remote as in a London street. This waste land might have been some...
Anthony Powell
In a nervous and slender-leaved mimosa grove at the back of their villa we found a perch on the ruins of a low stone wall. Through the darkness and the tender trees we could see the arabesques of lighted windows which, touched up by the colored inks of sensitive memory, appear to me now like playing cards--presumably because a bridge game was keeping the enemy busy.... A cluster of stars palely glowed above us, between the silhouettes of long thin leaves; that vibrant sky seemed as naked as...
Vladimir Nabokov
Nations are possessed with an insane ambition to perpetuate the memory of themselves by the amount of hammered stone they leave. What if equal pains were taken to smooth and polish their manners? One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon.
Henry David Thoreau
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept. Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone; That memory may their deed redeem, When, like our sires, our sons are gone. Spirit, that made those heroes...
Ralph Waldo Emerson
For the whole earth is the tomb of famous men; not only are they commemorated by columns and inscriptions in their own country, but in foreign lands there dwells also an unwritten memorial of them, graven not on stone but in the hearts of men. Make them your examples, and, esteeming courage to be freedom and freedom to be happiness, do not weigh too nicely the perils of war."[Funeral Oration of Pericles]
Thucydides
Not marble nor the gilded monuments. Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents. Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn. And broils roots out the work of masonry, Nor mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn. The living record of your memory.'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity. Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room. Even in the eyes of all posterity. That wear...
William Shakespeare
I taught Leah how to tell where we were in the Campo by using her sense of smell. The south side was glazed with the smell of slain fish and no amount of water or broom-work could ever eliminate the tincture of ammonia scenting that part of the piazza. The fish had written their names in those stones. But so had the young lambs and the coffee beans and torn arugula and the glistening tiers of citrus and the bread baking that produced a golden brown perfume from the great ovens. I whispered to...
Pat Conroy
