Birthplace Memories Quotes

Diversity is worth celebrating, Humbrall Taur, for it is the birthplace of wisdom.

The birthplace of anarchy is the cemetery of freedom.

I would like there to exist places that are stable, unmoving, intangible, untouched and almost untouchable, unchanging, deep-rooted; places that might be points of reference, of departure, of origin: My birthplace, the cradle of my family, the house where I may have been born, the tree I may have seen grow (that my father may have planted the day I was born), the attic of my childhood filled with intact memories… My spaces are fragile: time is going to wear them away, to destroy them. Nothing will any longer resemble what was, my memories will betray me, oblivion will infiltrate my memory, I shall look at a few old yellowing photographs with broken edges without recognising them… Space melts like sand running through one’s fingers. Time bears it away and leaves me only shapeless shreds: To write: To try meticulously to retain something, to cause something to survive; to wrest a few precise scraps from the void as it grows, to leave somewhere a furrow, a trace, a mark or a few signs.

IN WRITING THIS BOOK, I returned again and again to what people call my homeland, where my parents were born, as was I. But for the Vietnamese, the homeland is not simply the country of origin. It is the village where one’s father was born and where one’s father was buried. My father’s father died where he was supposed to, as my father will not and as I will not, in the province of his birth, his mausoleum thirty minutes from Ho Chi Minh’s birthplace.

Throughout the history of the Kensington Rune Stone in the twentieth century, memories of an ancient battle were repeatedly evoked to address the concerns about more recent battles. The skræling endured as a convenient symbol of the threats posed by secularization, urbanization, and diversification. As sociologist Richard K. Fenn observes, “Any society is a reservoir of old longings and ancient hatreds. These need to be understood, addressed, resolved and transcended if a society is to have a future that is different from its past.” Furthermore, when a society does not adequately confront its past, it perpetually finds “a new target that resembles but also differs from the source of original conflict.” If Fenn is correct, old enemies will continue to emerge in the face of new enemies unless Minnesotans can understand, address, resolve, and transcend the state’s original sin: the unjust treatment of the region’s first inhabitants.

One and a half million Jewish men and women and children: How was anyone to understand a number like that? Andras knew it took three thousand to fill the seats of the Dohány Street Synagogue. To accommodate a million and a half, one would have had to replicate that building, its arches and domes, its Moorish interior, its balcony, its dark wooden pews and gilded art, five hundred times. And then to envision each of those five hundred synagogues filled to capacity, to envision each man and woman and child inside as a unique and irreplaceable human being, the way he imagined Mendel Horovitz or the Ivory Tower or his brother Mátyás, each of them with desires and fears, a mother and a father, a birthplace, a bed, a first love, a web of memories, a cache of secrets, a skin, a heart, an infinitely complicated brain - to imagine them that way, and then to imagine them dead, extinguished for all time - how could anyone begin to grasp it?

In a materialistic world you can take it all from me My superficial beauty My intelligence and integrity Just please don't take my mind With all my memories stored Where loved ones still reside I need not eyes to see it Nor eyes to gaze upon It is the birthplace of my dreams And they fuel me to live on Just please don't take my mind Possessions are meaningless without memory

And sad memories eventually spoil thoughts of the places that recall them. And if they happen to be our birthplaces, those memories are liable to be even harsher and more poignant. (644)

In the late 1940s, the writer Albert Camus, suffering a bout of tuberculosis, journeyed from war-ravaged Paris to seek warmth and solace in his birthplace of northern Algeria. In a gray, rainy December, he found everything had changed and bitterly recognized the folly of hoping to relive his younger days. And yet he realized that the warm joy of his youth lay still untouched in his memory, writing, “In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me is an invincible summer.

built up over four decades of ‘real socialism’. In this part of the continent they claim their filiation with the dictatorships of the 1930s, like Jobbik in Hungary, which has taken up the legacy of the ‘arrowed cross’ and cultivates the memory of Admiral Horthy; they exhume an old revanchist and expansionist mythology, as with the Greater Romania Party or the Croat Party of the Right (HSP), which continues the Ustachi movement of Ante Pavelic. In western Europe, however, fascism is practically non-existent as an organized political force, at least in those countries that were its historic birthplace. In