Quotes About Memories

Some kinds of hurt almost feel good, you know? Familiar. Like an ugly couch in your parents' house with the springs all bare where your daddy slapped you once for coming home late and now when you sleep on it it's like one of those Indian fellas napping on nails but it makes you feel like you come from somewhere. Hurts like home.

One is always homesick for places where one came to grief.

How dare they speak so unkindly of stories? Stories never did anything to them! Stories are only here to love you and look after you and show you a good time… Stories don't even ask anything in return but not to have grape juice spilled on them, and, every once in a while, to be thought of fondly, years and years after you shut their covers.

And the funny, impish magic of a wrap party is that everyone still has scraps of their characters hanging off them like Salome's veils, fluttering, fading, but not quite finished tangling the tongue and tripping the feet. You're not in Wonderland anymore, but you positively reek of rabbit.

I will always be here, in my old chair by the door, waiting for you, whenever you are lonesome. Our little house will always look just the same as when we first blew the dust off the bookshelves, and the kettle will always be just about to boil. Sometimes I will be young, and sometimes I will be old, and sometimes you will be young, and sometimes you will be old. But for as long as forever, I will keep a room for you. I swear by the sparkle in my eye and the spring in your step.

I opened my fist. Maruchan had stolen lipstick for me. Revlon Super Lustrous 919: Red Ruin, worn almost all the way down to the nub by some dead woman's lips. After that, a lot of years went by but they weren't anything special.

And I was – still am – in a state of permanent terror that the pancreatitis may return. I still have nightmares about hospital and it is two years since my last admission. Those nights in A&E haunt me, and will probably do so forever, with their brutality and pain. No wonder I took a bit more, then a bit more, until it all spiralled out of control. No wonder I tried to run from those damaging memories into the arms of mother opiate. Charlie

she was yearning to be with her grandparents now.

happiness. All those years with Marc

Life has little bits of magic at nearly every turn, if you're looking closely enough. Scrapbooking has refined myselses. it's made me hungry to use it before I lose it. It's made me remember that I don't remember what it was like to be nine years old. And that I will never live in a Pottery Barn house. And that as tiny as I am in the scope of the universe, no one lives a life like mine. Not even the people whose meals I cook, whose laundry I fold, and whose cheeks I kiss at night.

Hi People! ILOVE ELEVEN BIRTHDAYS AND A MANGO SHAPED SPACE

Journeying over many seas & through many countries I came dear brother to this pitiful leave-taking The last gestures by your graveside The futility of words over your quiet ashes. Life cleft us from each other Pointlessly depriving brother of brother Accept then, our parents' custom These offerings, this leave-taking Echoing forever, brother, through a brother's tears

Memories were fine but you couldn't touch them, smell them or hold them. They were never exactly as the moment was, and they faded with time.

It's too late," she said, her voice trembling. "You are not the beautiful innocent vagabond walking toward me under the dogwood blossoms, with his trunks and his head full of worthless notions. And I am not the beloved, cherished ladies' maid...

But it is one thing to transmit the divine through a blasting storm of holy noise, another thing entirely to write a history forged from human voices, imperfect memories, self-interested accounts.

My life, this is," she said. "I know every mark on this and how it came there. I know the heft of every blessed knife in here. And now I'm to turn me back and walk away with nothing.

Felix Randal the farrier, O he is dead then? My duty all ended,Who have watched his mold of man, big-boned and hardy-handsome,Pining, pining.

Sooner or later your life is going to flash before your eyes; make sure it's worth watching.

The death of a friend is equivalent to the loss of a limb.

Aw, dad... this isn't another one of those "oh, you're LUCKY you didn't have to peck dry corn and uncooked rice off the dirt!" kind of thing is it?

How they love the old boxcar!

Before the Flowers of Friendship Faded Friendship Faded.

Oh sì, furono giorni infelici, i più felici della mia vita.

We never set eyes on Fatima or our dog or the city we had known ever again. Like a body prematurely buried, unmourned withpot coffin or ceremony, our hasty untidy exit from Jerusalem was no way to have said goodbye to our home, our country and all that we knew and loved.