Tribute Quotes

“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.”
― Shannon Alder

“[On Oscar Wilde:]

"If, with the literate, I am
Impelled to try an epigram,
I never seek to take the credit;
We all assume that Oscar said it.

[Life Magazine, June 2, 1927]”
― Dorothy Parker

“There is evidence that the honoree [Leonard Cohen] might be privy to the secret of the universe, which, in case you're wondering, is simply this: everything is connected. Everything. Many, if not most, of the links are difficult to determine. The instrument, the apparatus, the focused ray that can uncover and illuminate those connections is language. And just as a sudden infatuation often will light up a person's biochemical atmosphere more pyrotechnically than any deep, abiding attachment, so an unlikely, unexpected burst of linguistic imagination will usually reveal greater truths than the most exacting scholarship. In fact. The poetic image may be the only device remotely capable of dissecting romantic passion, let alone disclosing the inherent mystical qualities of the material world.

Cohen is a master of the quasi-surrealistic phrase, of the "illogical" line that speaks so directly to the unconscious that surface ambiguity is transformed into ultimate, if fleeting, comprehension: comprehension of the bewitching nuances of sex and bewildering assaults of culture. Undoubtedly, it is to his lyrical mastery that his prestigious colleagues now pay tribute. Yet, there may be something else. As various, as distinct, as rewarding as each of their expressions are, there can still be heard in their individual interpretations the distant echo of Cohen's own voice, for it is his singing voice as well as his writing pen that has spawned these songs.

It is a voice raked by the claws of Cupid, a voice rubbed raw by the philosopher's stone. A voice marinated in kirschwasser, sulfur, deer musk and snow; bandaged with sackcloth from a ruined monastery; warmed by the embers left down near the river after the gypsies have gone.

It is a penitent's voice, a rabbinical voice, a crust of unleavened vocal toasts -- spread with smoke and subversive wit. He has a voice like a carpet in an old hotel, like a bad itch on the hunchback of love. It is a voice meant for pronouncing the names of women -- and cataloging their sometimes hazardous charms. Nobody can say the word "naked" as nakedly as Cohen. He makes us see the markings where the pantyhose have been.

Finally, the actual persona of their creator may be said to haunt these songs, although details of his private lifestyle can be only surmised. A decade ago, a teacher who called himself Shree Bhagwan Rajneesh came up with the name "Zorba the Buddha" to describe the ideal modern man: A contemplative man who maintains a strict devotional bond with cosmic energies, yet is completely at home in the physical realm. Such a man knows the value of the dharma and the value of the deutschmark, knows how much to tip a waiter in a Paris nightclub and how many times to bow in a Kyoto shrine, a man who can do business when business is necessary, allow his mind to enter a pine cone, or dance in wild abandon if moved by the tune. Refusing to shun beauty, this Zorba the Buddha finds in ripe pleasures not a contradiction but an affirmation of the spiritual self. Doesn't he sound a lot like Leonard Cohen?

We have been led to picture Cohen spending his mornings meditating in Armani suits, his afternoons wrestling the muse, his evenings sitting in cafes were he eats, drinks and speaks soulfully but flirtatiously with the pretty larks of the street. Quite possibly this is a distorted portrait. The apocryphal, however, has a special kind of truth.

It doesn't really matter. What matters here is that after thirty years, L. Cohen is holding court in the lobby of the whirlwind, and that giants have gathered to pay him homage. To him -- and to us -- they bring the offerings they have hammered from his iron, his lead, his nitrogen, his gold.”
― Tom Robbins

“Robert G. Ingersoll was a great man. a wonderful intellect, a great soul of matchless courage, one of the great men of the earth -- and yet we have no right to bow down to his memory simply because he was great. Great orators, great soldiers, great lawyers, often use their gifts for a most unholy cause. We meet to pay a tribute of love and respect to Robert G. Ingersoll because he used his matchless power for the good of man.

{Darrow's eulogy for Ingersoll at his funeral}”
― Clarence Darrow

“History with its flickering lamp stumbles along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of honor.”
― Winston S. Churchill

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a sane employee in possession of his wits must be in want of a good manager.”
― Charles Stross, The Fuller Memorandum

“Of all public figures and benefactors of mankind, no one is loved by history more than the literary patron. Napoleon was just a general of forgotten battles compared with the queen who paid for Shakespeare's meals and beer in the tavern. The statesman who in his time freed the slaves, even he has a few enemies in posterity, whereas the literary patron has none. We thank Gaius Maecenas for the nobility of soul we attribute to Virgil; but he isn’t blamed for the selfishness and egocentricity that the poet possessed. The patron creates 'literature through altruism,' something not even the greatest genius can do with a pen.”
― Roman Payne

“When other countries run sustained trade deficits, they must finance these by selling off domestic assets or running into debt — debt which they actually are obliged to pay. It seems that only the Americans are so bold as to say “Screw the world. We’re going to do whatever we want.” Other countries simply cannot afford the chaos from which the U.S. economy is positioned to withstand as a result of the fact that foreign trade plays a smaller role in its economy than in those of nearly all other nations in today’s interdependent world.

Using debtor leverage to set the terms on which it will refrain from causing monetary chaos, America has turned seeming financial weakness into strength. U.S. Government debt has reached so large a magnitude that any attempt to replace it will entail an interregnum of financial chaos and political instability. American diplomats have learned that they are well positioned to come out on top in such grab-bags.”
― Michael Hudson, The Bubble and Beyond

“There is a silent deference for one another, a distance that is kept, and lines that aren’t crossed, but in their sharing, they each try to pay tribute to the bond in their own way. As often as possible, they open up a little and give what they can.”
― Dan Groat, An Enigmatic Escape: A Trilogy

“Some days I find myself convinced that I admire her more than anyone I've ever met, and other days I think of her as a liar and a cheat.

I think Evelyn would be rather content with that, actually.”
― Taylor Jenkins Reid, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo

“(This is from a tribute poem to Ronnie James Dio: Former lead vocalist of the band Rainbow, Black Sabbath. This is written with all the titles of the hit songs of DIO. The titles are all in upper case)

You can “CATCH THE RAINBOW” –
“A RAINBOW IN THE DARK”
Through “ROCK & ROLL CHILDREN”
“HOLY DIVER” will lurk
“BEFORE THE FALL” of “ELECTRA”
“ALL THE FOOLS SAILED AWAY”
“JESUS,MARY AND THE HOLY GHOST”-
“LORD OF THE LAST DAY”
“MASTER OF THE MOON” you are
When my “ONE FOOT IN THE GRAVE”
With our “BLACK”, “COLD FEET”,
“MYSTERY” of “PAIN” you crave
You’re “CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE”,
“BETWEEN TWO HEARTS”
When “HUNGRY FOR HEAVEN”
“HUNTER OF THE HEART” hurts
“FALLEN ANGELS” “FEED MY HEART”
“FEVER DREAMS” “FEED MY HEAD”
“I AM” “ANOTHER LIE”
“AFTER ALL (THE DEAD)”
Not “GUILTY” if you “HIDE IN THE RAINBOW’’
With your perfect “GUITAR SOLO”
“DON’T TELL THE KIDS” to “DREAM EVIL”
Don’t “GIVE HER THE GUN” to follow
“DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS”
Those “EVIL EYES” can see
“LORD OF THE NIGHT” “MISTREATED”;
“MY EYES” hate to fancy
“SHAME ON THE NIGHT” “TURN UP THE NIGHT”
Now it’s “TIME TO BURN”
“TWISTED” “VOODOO” does “WALK ON WATER”
And today its our turn
“BLOOD FROM A STONE” “BORN ON THE SUN”
I’m “BETTER IN THE DARK” “BREATHLESS”
The “PRISONER OF PARADISE” you are!
Forever you are deathless
“SACRED HEART” “SHIVERS”
Laying “NAKED IN THE RAIN”
“THIS IS YOUR LIFE”- “ WILD ONE”!
Your “GOLDEN RULES” we gain
“IN DREAMS” “I SPEED AT NIGHT”
I’m “LOSING MY INSANITY”
“ANOTHER LIE”: “COMPUTER GOD”
Your “HEAVEN AND HELL”- my vanity!
By “KILLING THE DRAGON”
“I COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAMER”
I’m “THE LAST IN LINE” To “SCREAM”
Like an “INVISIBLE” screamer
Now that you are gone
“THE END OF THE WORLD” is here
“STRAIGHT THROUGH THE HEART”
“PUSH” “JUST ANOTHER DAY” in fear
“CHILDREN OF THE SEA” “ DYING IN AMERICA”
Is it “DEATH BY LOVE”?
“FACES IN THE WINDOW” looking for
A “GYPSY” from above
Dear “STARGAZER” from “STRANGE HIGHWAYS”
Our love “HERE’S TO YOU”
“WE ROCK” “ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD”
The “OTHER WORLD” anew
“ONE NIGHT IN THE CITY” with “NEON KNIGHTS”
“THE EYES” “STAY OUT OF MY MIND”
The “STARSTRUCK” “SUNSET SUPERMAN”
Is what we long to find
“THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING”
Is the “INSTITUTIONAL MAN”
“SHOOT SHOOT” to “TURN TO STONE”
“WHEN A WOMAN CRIES” to plan
To “STAND UP AND SHOUT”
before “ THE KING OF ROCK AND ROLL”
Though “GOD HATES HEAVY METAL”
“EAT YOUR HEART OUT” to reach the goal.

From the poem- Holy Dio: the Diver (A tribute to Ronnie James Dio)”
― Munia Khan

“There is, of course, a chicken-and-egg element here: does someone gravitate to the role of Eddie van Halen because he shares similar personality traits or did portraying Eddie Van Halen give rise to those qualities?”
― Steven Kurutz

“From out of the ground a eulogy grows and becomes a poppy.”
― Nanette L. Avery

“What a waste.. All those people saying all those wonderful things, and Irv never got to hear any of it.”
― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

“The pain of a hard good-bye is the heart’s tribute to the privilege to love.”
― Beth Moore, The Undoing of Saint Silvanus

“Que me terrassant aient vécu, plus haut et clair que nous ne vivons, ceux qui furent à peine et redeviennent si peu.”
― Pierre Michon, Small Lives

“(Life) it was a little bit nearer than God, but no less powerful and terrible. Yes, it was something, perhaps, that one did not wish to understand because one feared it, something to which one paid tribute lest it should feel offended and seize one, body and soul.”
― Arthur Holitscher

“And on a cold Sunday afternoon, he was joined in his home by a small group of friends and family for a 'living funeral'. Each of them spoke and paid tribute.. Some cried. Some laughed. One woman read a poem:
'My dear and loving cousin..
Your ageless heart
as you ,love through time, layer on layer,
tender sequoia..'
.. And all the heartfelt things we never get to say to those we love, Morrie said that day.”
― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

“The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.
Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total.
As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.
I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.
Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.
I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.
Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred.
It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before.
I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.”
― Roselle Lim, Natalie Tan's Book of Luck & Fortune

“Where sorrows are undeserved, tears of joy are undeterred.”
― Martin Uzochukwu Ugwu

“When the work was done Gabriel would compose music for the bone trumpet, a lament for Vissarion played on an instrument made from Vissarion's femur. Vissarion would be pleased, he thought, that his remains had become music, leaping into life like Athene from the thigh of Zeus.”
― Walter Jon Williams, Aristoi

“Tribute to the dead is meaningless. Corpses are 3D – dead, deaf and dumb. Only the living can appreciate their tributes. If only we tell the living the sweet things we tell their corpses, some would have lived longer or happier. If you have swallowed pleasantries to your beloved ones, start vomiting them right away to avoid food poisoning or constipation. When do you prefer your tribute, dead or alive?”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu, Weighty 'n' Worthy African Proverbs - Volume 1

“The readings and tributes were followed by a song, and they were all invited to join in. The lyrics were printed in the program. "No Rain" by Blind Melon had been a favorite of Blythe's, expressing the glory of escaping into a pages of a book. The woman playing guitar was a frequent patron of the shop. She had contacted Natalie and Frieda as they were organizing the program and asked to perform in Blythe's honor.
As the lyrics of the song came out of Natalie on a shaky breath, she wished she could do exactly as the words expressed---Escape, escape, escape.”
― Susan Wiggs, The Lost and Found Bookshop

“When do you want to receive tribute, dead or alive? Without dispute, it is cute to pay tribute to the living. Destitute of words to salute good repute is no excuse. Our charity should begin with the living. Parents are a good starting point. We can't reciprocate by giving them life but we can at least impart quality and jollity to their lives by rendering them occasional tribute. If you have swallowed the pleasantries meant for your loved ones, please vomit them now to avoid the constipation of regret.”
― Vincent Okay Nwachukwu

“…[Magfirat]-The best tribute, I could ask for my
parents.
For the unparalleled efforts, for my better education.
And their way of simple and pious life.”
― Farooq A. Shiekh

“Omega Elegeia by Stewart Stafford

This master of words hath no more,
The hand that penned them stilled,
What you read is an epitaph,
The remnant body of work willed.

Honour and cherish this legacy,
As his flesh and bone are dust,
His poetic flame snuffed hither,
His spirit flown, in that, we trust.

His face was familiar to many,
But known to a precious few,
Now 'tis hidden forevermore,
Covertly in plain sight, anew.

© Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“He lives forever in his words, in his poems, and in his stories. An inspiration to many writers and poets all around the world. The man who became immortal by his words, the one and only - Ernest Hemingway.”
― Avijeet Das

“She was, and would forever be, vivacious and vibrant, filled with reasons to celebrate herself and others. Frozen and memorialized with her warmth, her ambition, her beauty, her light all burning bright as ever. Without prolonged suffering or bitterness. Nothing but frenetic energy, boundless potential, and love left behind.”
― Genevieve Wheeler, Adelaide

“Tribute to a Godly Man

I knew a man who gave his life
To see revival fire
He prayed by day, he prayed by night
To birth this one desire

He had but one obsession
To see a glorious bride
Arrayed in spotless purity
Brought to her bridegroom's side

His power won in the pulpit
Was matched by very few
And yet, he loved the closet
There with the God he knew

While others strove for man's applause
For fortune or for fame
He had but one ambition
To exalt his master's name

For 87 years he lived
Just for eternity
A man of faith and wisdom
And true humility

He knew one day he'd have to stand
Before God's judgement seat
And so he ran to win the prize
His mission to complete

The fortune that he left behind
Was not in stocks or gold
But lives transformed and challenged
Their stories yet untold

There is no greater privilege
Than this that I have had
Knowing this great man of God
And having him as Dad

~David Ravenhill (author)”
― David Ravenhill

“Used to see Jimmy Savile at the Flying Pizza on Street Lane, Roundhay. Always in good spirits. RIP”
― Liz Truss