I, who have lost my homeland, want to congratulate everyone who has realized their heavenly, thousand-year-old dream and gained a homeland.
It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.
The most painful state of being is remembering the future, particularly one you can never have.
Aquellos que no pueden recordar el pasado están condenados a repetirlo. (Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.)
I think that the picture of Yugoslavia, of the life in it, and what kind of country it was will be less and less clear as more and more time passes since its breakup.
The past is never dead. It’s not even past.
The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.
I was about 18 when these Changes happened. I studied hard in school and did all the things I was supposed to do. But it was for nothing.
In the tragedy Medea (431 BC), Euripides describes the protagonist’s feeling about her exile.
In Tristia (“Sorrows,” approx. 8-17 AD), the poet Ovid laments his life in exile from Rome (the exile itself may or may not have actually happened). One of the verses describes the pain of losing his country.