Quotes About Memory

She savored their conversation, and often, when doing her chores, she remembered the words he said to her and how hopeful he was that she might kiss him again. Now she wished she had. because one kiss is not enough.

Any small thing that reminds me of home is a treasure. Sometimes it's small—a bowl of soup that makes me think of my mother—or it's a color. I saw a blue parasol in the crowd this afternoon that reminded me of the lake by the waterwheel in Schilpario. It's the kind of thing that catches you unaware and fills you with a deep longing for everything you once knew. Don't apologize for loving this tree. If I had a tree, I'd feel the same.

first impression is often just that, a quick snapshot that on its own merit is meaningless. After a vacation, in time, it gets lost in a shoe box full of them.

When you lose someone, they take a bigger place in your heart, not a smaller one. Every day it grows, because you don't stop loving them. You wish you could talk to them. You need their advice. But life doesn't always give us what we need, and it's difficult. It is for me, anyway.

still miss my mother. Isn't it funny? You forget plenty, but never your mother.

Who would tell the story of the elephant when she was gone? A family was only as strong as their stories.

And there they ring the walls, the young, the lithe. The handsome hold the graves they won in Troy; the enemy earth rides over those who conquered.

Write what I tell you in your book of memory.

Injuries may be forgiven, but not forgotten

In the good days remember also death.

There again is memory at my doorstep -- jasmine crushed under departing feet. The moon extinguishes its silver pain on the window.

The man who buries his house in the sand and digs it up again, each evening, learns to put it together quickly and just as quickly to take it apart. My parents sleep like children in the dark. I am too far to hear them breathe

Everyone carries his address in pocket so that atleast his body will reach home.

My memory is again in the way of your history

The ultimate affront, that neither hurries, grows weary nor forgets, is called death.

This woman he met was the woman he met and however you try, you cannot unmeet.

Though loss did not pass from one person to another liker a baton; it just formed a bigger and bigger pool of carriers. And, she thought, scratching the coarseness of the horse's mane, it did not leave once lodged, did it, simply changed form and asked repeatedly for attention and care, as each year revealed a new knot to cry out and consider - smaller, sure, but never gone.

She used to call me garbage truck

In those days, she let her hair loose, down to her waist, and whenever I met old friends of hers, they would describe my mother as having resembled a mermaid with legs. With a sheerness to her skin that people wanted to shield.

the loss of love that comes to mean more than the love itself and how explain that? — a still pool in the forest that has ceased to reflect anything except the past from "Listening to Myself

I forget whether I ever loved you in the past—when you enter the room your climate is the mood of living, the hinge of now, in time the present tense. Certainly you are the world I am not done with, until I dispense with words— Yet neutral: something I say will flash back like light or shadow; you wait to be a stranger I've not met or fondled or slept with. from "Where the Moment Is

A dominant impulse on encountering beauty is to wish to hold on to it, to possess it and give it weight in one's life. There is an urge to say, 'I was here, I saw this and it mattered to me.

Most of our childhood is stored not in photos, but in certain biscuits, lights of day, smells, textures of carpet.

The inability to live in the present lies in the fear of leaving the sheltered position of anticipation or memory, and so of admitting that this is the only life that one is ever likely (heavenly intervention aside) to live.