A Quote by Katie Hopkins

I love Remembrance Sunday. — © Katie Hopkins
I love Remembrance Sunday.
It is Sunday, mid-morning-Sunday in the living room, Sunday in the kitchen, Sunday in the woodshed, Sunday down the road in the village: I hear the bells, calling me to share God's grace.
I love in the Old Testament where they talk about Ebenezer so much... stones to remembrance. And it's like there's constant stones of remembrance of what God has done.
Never be without remembrance of Him, for His remembrance gives strength and wings to the bird of the Spirit.
Consumed by the agony of remembrance The remembrance of night's festive company The one remaining candle flickers and dies.
We had poverty in our house. Even on the council estate I knew I was one of the poorer kids. I used to go round my friends houses on a Sunday to get their Sunday dinner because my mum couldn't cook either so I used to love going round my mates and say: 'Can you ask your Mum if I can come in for Sunday dinner?'
No wonder that my remembrance fails me, for I shall complete my 70 years next Sunday (the 22); - and during these 70 years I have had a happy life; which still remains happy because of hope and content.
The Anglo-Saxon farmers had scarce conquered foothold, stronghold, freehold in the Western wilderness before they became sowers of hemp--with remembrance of Virginia, with remembrance of dear ancestral Britain.
I don't like the Sunday newspapers - I read them because I have to. 'Sunday Times,' 'Telegraph,' 'Independent' on Sunday - I find them heavy and too much! I prefer 'The Economist.'
Oh, can I really believe the poet's tales, that when one first sees the object of one's love, one imagines one has seen her long ago, that all love like all knowledge is remembrance, that love too has its prophecies in the individual.
Remembrance restores possibility to the past, making what happened incomplete and completing what never was. Remembrance is neither what happened nor what did not happen but, rather, their potentialization, their becoming possible once again.
and love was lightning and remembrance
When the starry sky, a vista of open seas, or a stained-glass window shedding purple beams fascinate me, there is a cluster of meaning, of colors, of words, of caresses, there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise, shroud me, carry me away, and sweep me beyond the things I see, hear, or think, The "sublime" object dissolves in the raptures of a bottomless memory. It is such a memory, which, from stopping point to stopping point, remembrance to remembrance, love to love, transfers that object to the refulgent point of the dazzlement in which I stray in order to be.
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember.
Remembrance is a necessary expression of love, internally.
Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.
I love waking up to Sunday morning pancakes. The whole process of making them, just out in the kitchen together making pancakes on a Sunday morning; that's an experience every girl should have.
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