Quotes About Memory

Saniye, tam üç bin alt? yüz kez saatte, F?s?ldar:: An?msa! - Çabuk çabuk, sesiyle Bir böceÄŸin, Åžimdi der: Ben GeçmiÅŸ'im bile, Ä°ÄŸrenç hortumumla emdim ömrünü hatta!

Dear, you evoke white-veiled and lukewarm hours

Laisse-moi mordre longtemps tes tresses lourdes et noires. Quand je mordille tes cheveux élastiques et rebelles, il me semble que je mange des souvenirs.

Dans tes jupons remplis de ton parfum Ensevelir ma tête endolorie, Et respirer, comme une fleur flétrie, Le doux relent de mon amour défunt.

Noir assassin de la Vie et de l'Art, Tu ne tueras jamais dans ma mémoire Celle qui fut mon plaisir et ma gloire !

The poetry is not in speaking to the dead but listening to the dead.

she is no longer the beautiful woman she was. she sends photos of herself sitting upon a rock by the ocean alone and damned. I could have had her once. I wonder if she thinks I could have saved her?

If I never see you again I will always carry you inside outside on my fingertips and at brain edges and in centers centers of what I am of what remains.

I don't remember going to bed, but in the morning, there I was.

eleven months. now she's gone gone as they go.

and love was lightning and remembrance

And I said to myself that he was the first thing that I had ever missed in my life.

I will always carry you, inside, outside, on my fingertips, and at brain edges.

dear J: I feel lucky that I didn't fuck you the first time we met in Houston, but luckier that I didn't fuck you the last time we met in San Francisco. this is the answer to your letter even though I don't know if you'll ever read it. the words are yours but I'll get credit for the poem. you see, it could never have worked, the way I am. B.

I lost almost all the blood in my body in 1957

The first thing I remember my grandmother saying was, "I will bury all of you!

Eleven years. Although each night had been long, the years had gone fast.

the most immense thing about beauty is finding it gone.

Nobody listened to an old voice anymore. Old voices became a part of one's self, like a fingernail.

Stanley was right. I never hit another home run. I struck out most of the time. But they always remembered that home run and while they still hated me, it was a better kind of hatred, like they weren't quite sure why. Football

one day the goldfish died, all five of them, they floated on the water, on their sides, their eyes still open, and when my father got home he threw them to the cat there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother smiled

I never hit another home run. I struck out most of the time. But they always remembered that home run and while they still hated me, it was a better kind of hatred, like they weren't quite sure why.

Ricorderò la tua piccola stanza, la sensazione di te, la luce nella finestra, i tuoi dischi, i tuoi libri, il nostro caffè al mattino, i nostri pomeriggi, le nostre notti, i nostri corpi attaccati, il piccolo flusso di energia, immediato e per sempre. Le tue gambe, le mie gambe, le tue braccia, le mie braccia, il tuo sorriso ed il tuo calore quando mi facevi ridere ancora.

estoy seguro de que he hecho cantidad de cosas por tí que ni siquiera recuerdas, aún así, nunca te caí especialmente bien.