Memorializing Quotes

Now me and my brother go to see him some times but he don't have much to say anymore. So we sit on his headstone with a fifth of Jack D. Here's to a long line of sinners like me.

I bought a house in England in 1990, shortly after my father died, hoping to come home to England and spend time with my family.

When it comes to my Uncle Jack, my father, or any other loved ones we've lost, I believe in honoring lives, not deaths.

Yom HaShoah is a vital day in the Jewish calendar, providing us with a focal point for our remembrance. We cannot bring the dead back to life, but we can bring their memory back to life and ensure they are not forgotten. We can undertake in our lives to do what they were so cruelly prevented from doing in theirs.

Look at my papa here; he's been dead all these years, and yet he is more real to me than almost anybody else. He never goes out of my life. I talk to him and consult him all the time. The older I grow, the better I know him and the more I understand him.

The true way to mourn the dead is to take care of the living who belong to them.

I didn't feel up to writing about 9/11. If I were to write about it, it would take me years.

Anderson Cooper's on-air reaction to Bob Simon's death; Wolf Blitzer personalizing his experience in going back to Auschwitz where his grandparents lost their lives - I think that has all made our air more authentic.

'Say Her Name' was a book I never wanted to write and never expected to write. I wasn't trying to do anything except write a book for Aura - a book that I thought I had to write.

The bottom line is I'm writing to save the dead. I'm writing to save the people I have lost, some of whose bodies are still walking around.

I had this struggle of, what do I do to make sure my brother is still part of everything that I do? As I was driving up to his funeral, it hit me. I'm going to wear his number.

I talk to Simon, I write to him. I never used to write a diary. But now I'm writing a diary to him. I think it's not just me, but lots of others, family and friends, can still feel him around.

She does not want to feel even the faintest temptation to call his mobile number, as she had done obsessively for the first year after his death so she could hear his voice on the answering service. Most days now his loss is a part of her, an awkward weight she carries around, invisible to everyone else, subtly altering the way she moves through the day. But today, the Anniversary of the day he died, is a day when all bets are off.

I ought not to speak about the dead because the dead are all over the place.

Well, anyway, her death changed our lives for the better, because it brought a kind of awareness, a specific sense of purpose and appreciation we hadn't had before. Would I trade that in order to have her back? In a fraction of a millisecond. But I won't ever have her back. So I have taken this, as her great gift to us. But. Do I block her out? Never. Do I think of her? Always. In some part of my brain, I think of her every single moment of every single day.

New Orleans taught me that mourning takes many different forms. Where I'm from, mourning is spirited. It is loud.

Andy and I decided to get married in August of 2014, and just 4 days after we married, he passed away. For me, I carry my relationship with Andy with me in my LGBT advocacy work.

Whenever I can, I like to go to Cotswolds, in England, where my husband had a cottage. I spend my time reading his diaries, which I would like to publish.

My dad dying was actually a reason for me to stop music properly for about a year, because he was a big supporter. All I wanted to do was write a song about him and, you know, when something's too fresh, you can't quite word it.

I decided to devote my life to telling the story because I felt that having survived I owe something to the dead. and anyone who does not remember betrays them again.

Memory is the only friend of grief.

I'd been coming to New York for weekends since I was 17, and after 9/11, I started making these trips more frequently, just to make contact with the city.

I was a very close friend of Dash Snow's, so whenever I get a chance to revisit his work, that's always amazing for me.

In 2002, I went to play the Afcon in Mali, and I had the huge privilege to swap my shirt with Marc-Vivien Foe. May his soul rest in peace.

Do I miss him? Of course I do. Every day. His death was devastating, he was just 51. But you know, in my stand-up my Dad will always be alive. He's so much part of my act.