Quotes About Memory

The people who have been central to our lives are always there in us and always will be, even when they are no longer alive and we are not actually thinking about them. We are fortunate if our memories of them, conscious or unconscious, are happy ones. If we know and can feel deep down inside ourselves that they loved us constantly and unconditionally.

But she had been too wrapped up with painful memory, uncomfortable reality.

No es fácil mirar el propio pasado, sobre todo cuando uno creía que se habían borrado todas las huellas.

He had loved her as she had loved him. A foolish youthful emotion that was as insubstantial as a dream—and that left enough pain in its wake to cripple one for a lifetime.

Could she ever have imagined in those few golden months that one day they would be in a room together, separated as if by a thousand miles?

But she had smiled and reached out her hands for his—had he held his own out first? He could not remember. All the world had been reaching out to him, and he had taken her hands in his and known he was at home again.

That kiss! The memory of it, brief as it had been, so consumed her with embarrassment that her mind shied away from it altogether—and could think of nothing else. Not just the kiss but the mortifying knowledge that she had burned for him, that her womb had throbbed with the need to feel him there. Mortifying indeed!

Elizabeth again found it difficult to reconcile that memory of a tender, loving Robert with the afternoon's encounter with the cold, unfeeling Marquess of Hetherington.

Ah, Gerard, Gerard , she found herself thinking. Why could you not have remained simply the golden boy of my memories?

A Christmas to remember. For the rest of her life. But how would she remember it? With the ache of sadness and loneliness and loss? With sweet nostalgia?

It had not after all been an isolated experience in the past, over and done with and to be relived only in memory. It was continuing into the present and the future.

She wondered how long it would be before she could no longer remember clearly what he looked like. She turned her head to look at him now as if it were somehow important to remember, to memorize

Algunos días eran tan tranquilos que al cabo de una semana era imposible recordar lo que había sucedido en su transcurso. Otros estaban tan llenos de acontecimientos que era imposible creer que veinticuatro horas dieran para tanto.

And she was in his arms, her head pillowed against his shoulder, held to him, rocked against him. She closed her eyes and willed herself to remember every detail of this moment for the rest of her life. The hard muscularity of his body. The comfort of his arms and his shoulder. His cheek against the top of her head. The warmth and the smell of him. He and she, and their child between them. Perhaps thirty seconds. At the most a minute. A minute to last a lifetime.

He knew that after tomorrow he would try to remember what she looked like and not always succeed.

believe most people live their lives within a radius of a few miles of their childhood homes," she said. "Not many people go adventuring. And even those who do have to take themselves with them. That must turn out to be a bit of a disappointment.

And she did not want to be reminded of how Christopher had changed. She wanted to remember him, if at all, as he had been before.

I am not your wife. We are strangers. Did I imagine that wedding service we attended together in a small church in Devon? he asked. Did I imagine that we consummated the marriage in a very thorough manner for two nights?

Then I thought that once my year of mourning was over and I put off my blacks, I would also put off the worst of my grief. And perhaps that has happened. But sometimes I think that grief is preferable to emptiness. At least grief is something. I have come to realize, I suppose, that they are not just dead. They are gone. There is nothing there where they were.

And so she placed her hand in his and he gripped it firmly. She was touching him again after six long years. For a moment she forgot time and occasion. It could be no one else's hand: warm, broad, capable. She had once thought she could put her whole life in it and be safe.

Eyewitnesses could be the most unreliable. Not only did people lie, but even the truth tellers did not always get it right. Human brains had a way of filling in details that fit their own personal worldviews.

She was held in the tension just before movement, about to walk back toward the house. Later she would think, If I had turned away, I'd have missed the moment he fell in love. He would not remember it that way. What he experienced was not so much the beginning of love as a cessation of pain.

How long ago did she die, Wyatt? Morgan pressed. Is it nine years now? Eight, Wyatt said, halfway between stubborn and sad. I promised to love her all my life, Morg. I meant to keep my word. That shut Morgan up, but Doc's eyes opened and he gazed at Wyatt for a long time. What? Wyatt asked. That is your ghost life, Wyatt, Doc told him, and closed his eyes again. That is the life you might have had. This is the life you've got.

the past was not dead but alive, and important by virtue of the very invisibility of its influence.