Quotes About Memories

the place seemed different without him, bare of personality. Last night she had again confronted herself, and the knowledge that she was letting herself down by even thinking the way she did and had again brought forth the rejoinder: what real harm could there be in thinking because all she would ever have of him were thoughts, She would never give herself away and so who was to know what she thought.

for the days of age are not only much shorter than those in youth, but they rush away from you at a frightening rate. Take a day: a day in youth is an experience, and the last hour is as far away as a child's Christmas; a day in age is but a dim memory in a week that is already gone. At

She'd be dead before the memories and pain were finally gone; she knew it, accepted it, and dealt with it.

Everyone has memories, Finn. Your prophecies are what matter. The visions that descend on you are the great gift and strangeness of the Starseer. They're unique. The people know that, the slaves and the warband, even Jormanric.It's in the way they look at you. Sometimes they fear you.

Lord Frederick had been a stalwart member of the Montagne court since at least the time of my grandfather; this I knew. Even more, he had the marvellous ability to pull peppermint drops from my ears, which used to entertain me for hours.

I used to picture time as a rope you followed along, hand over hand, into the distance, but it's nothing like that. It moves outward but holds everything that's come before. Cut me open and I'm a tree trunk, rings of nostalgia radiating inward. All the years are nested inside me like I'm my own personal one-woman matryoshka doll. I guess that's true for everybody, but then I drive everybody crazy with my nostalgia and happiness. I am bittersweet personified.

Vacations often go to fast! Enjoy every minute!

There] was a time when a lot of people came to the door. The milkman. The iceman. The Fuller Brush man. Encyclopedia salesmen. There was a sense of interaction with the world that started right at your own front doorstep.

It's a good summer. A full one. With lots of good firsts. Which is good. Since it's the last.

Sometimes when things happen you just let them go, one by one, because it's easier. You pretend they don't mean as much as they do. I should've had my eyes open about that, but you can't go back and second-guess things. It's just that when we sat around and thought about the things we really loved, which you do when you're away at war, mostly what came to me were experiences.

Because it seems we get over everything, given enough time. And I guess in a lot of ways I've partially gotten over the traumatic event of her passing. But what you don't realize, until you have to live it, is that it's the absence of the person that's the trouble. The ongoing absence. And when you're missing someone, a longer time without them doesn't solve the problem. The longer you don't see someone, the more you miss them.

That was the problem with my mother. I could never fully get her voice out of my head.

looking back, every moment feels equally important. Now the most tedious and uneventful day I ever spent feels like a gift. Now I'm holding those moments like a heaping double handful of pearls, and at the same time I'm admiring their beauty, I have to open my hands and let them pour through.

I look back because I felt at home with May and Everett, as much as I ever have anywhere. I don't want that time to be gone. But it is gone, and even if I had not left, still it would be gone. Only for the time I was meant to be there could I feel so at peace.

Hearts set about finding other hearts the moment they are born, and between them, they weave nets so frightfully strong and tight that you end up bound forever in hopeless knots, even to the shadow of a beast you knew and loved long ago.

You know how we can be about things which sparkle and shine. We imagine they will put back something of what has been lost.

This is my heart—carry it with you. I will dream of you in the dark, and you will taste it in my tea, and feel it in my shoes.

Your past's a private matter, sweetheart. You just keep it locked up in xbox where it can't hurt anyone.

The tales lovers tell each other about how they met are hushed and secret things. They change year by year, for we all meet many times as we grow up and become different and new and exciting people--and this never stops, even for a minute, even when we are ninety.

The nicest room you've ever lived in doesn't have to be clean and white or full of translucent fresh monkfish slices with pea shoots delicately balanced on top. It can just be the place you were happiest and safest from the wind.

Hello old friend," he greeted it, "how strange for us to meet again, like this, with the snow blowing so outside." "You know my...my wrench?" "Of course I know it. It was not a wrench when we were last acquainted, but ones friends may change clothes and still one knows them.

The burnt-off connectors and shadows where Ravan once filled my spaces— those, I think, are the sensations of grief.

I opened my door and everything they had for me was tainted because the land of Used-to-Be is just full of ghosts starving for your breath.

There is still a place in me, Masha, where my death once lay. I have a pain there, the way some men feel their legs long after they've been cut off at the knee. It is my pain, and I cannot share it. I would not, even if I could. I will age with you, if it will please you. I will match you, wrinkle for wrinkle, grey hair for grey hair, creak for creak, tumor for tumor. You will be so beautiful when you are old.