Quotes About Memory

He raised his hands, not to strike, but in benediction. Lincoln was the grandest figure of the fiercest civil war. He is the gentlest memory of our world.

The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them.

As always, he found her better-looking in the flesh than in the memory he had of her when not present.

The feel of her was both new and familiar, as though he had held her a long time ago, as though he had missed it without knowing it for years.

They don't disappear, the dead. It'd be easier if they did. I can see her so clearly. If she walked up those steps now, part of me wouldn't be surprised. She was such a vivid person.

I love you don't forget me whatever hpapens to me. I love you.

The detective seemed to remember reading that advertisers used Scottish accents to suggest integrity and honesty. The

Time had eroded all shock value.

The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them. Strike had felt the living woman behind the words she had written to friends; he had heard her voice on a telephone held to his ear; but now, looking down on the last thing she had ever seen in her life, he felt strangely close to her.

Why did the memory of innocence sting so much, as you got older? Why did the memory of the child who'd thought she was invulnerable, who'd never known cruelty, give her more pain than pleasure?

Por qué dolía tanto recordar la inocencia de la infancia cuando una se hacía mayor?

As always, he found her better-looking in the flesh than in the memory he had of her when not present. This

Id rather die than have more. Actually I'd rather die than most things. But you know that about me. Will I ever see you again? You could come and see me here. Today I imagined you walking in, like I did when your leg. I imagined you telling them to let me go because you loved me and you'd look after me. I cried . . .

Look me in the eye and tell me you've loved anyone, since, like you loved me." "No I haven't," he said, "and thank fuck for that.

there are words that can never be unsaid or forgotten...

Wisps of her dreams still clung about her . . .

The memory of him telling her she was his best friend caused a little spurt of happiness every time she returned to it . . .

But none of us were ever quite the same afterward," said Dr. Gupta quietly. "One does not expect a friend to vanish into thin air without leaving a single trace behind them. There is something—uncanny about it.

An image of Charlotte hung permanently in Robin's head these days, like a shadowy portrait she'd never wanted hung . . . Last night, though, that image had become stark and fixed: a darkly romantic vision of a lost and dying love, breathing her final words in Strike's ear as she lay among the trees.

Strike hated the memory of these fantasies more than he hated remembering the pain caused by their eternal unfulfillment . . .

The dead could only speak through the mouths of those left behind, and through the signs they left scattered behind them. Strike

To her own frustration, the exhausted Robin could not remember the name of the young girl who had written to Strike, asking for advice on cutting off her leg, but she thought it had been Kylie or something similar. Scrolling slowly down the most densely populated support site she had found, she kept an eye out for usernames that might in

Forty years ago, but it feels like yesterday. They don't disappear, the dead. It'd be easier if they did. I can see her so clearly. If she walked up those steps now, part of me wouldn't be surprised. She was such a vivid person.

The only thing left to her keeping were a bloody old rag and a creased photograph of the ocean which she held pressed to the hollow of her slender throat and had thrashed for and bit hands to protect like a madwoman risen from sleep to in her unformed state between wake and dream reproach the world tenfold.