Quotes About Memories

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

Cuando nos morimos, esas son las historias que siguen en nuestro labios. Las historias que solamente les contamos a desconocidos, en algún lugar íntimo de la celda acolchada de la medianoche. Esas historias importantes que nos pasamos años ensayando mentalmente pero que nunca contamos. Esas historias son fantasmas, que traen a la gente de vuelta de entre los muertos. Solamente un momento. De visita. Cada historia es un fantasma.

These dudes, clutching their little gifts, for them today is their kind-of-honeymoon.

She reflected on her time in Paris and thought how it seemed as if she'd spent half her life drinking wine in bed and covered with contusions. This, it occurred to her, was how it must feel to be Melanie Griffith.

Jump back twenty years to the white house where I grew up with my father shooting super-8 movies of my brother and me running around the yard. Jump to present time with my folks sitting on lawn chairs at night, and watching these same super-8 movies projected on the white side of the same white house, twenty years later.

Het is zo moeilijk om pijn te vergeten, maar het is nog moeilijker om je te herinneren dat je gelukkig bent geweest. We houden geen littekens over van geluk. We leren zo weinig over vrede.

It's worth noting up front that I have always conceived of my mind as a digestive organ. A stomach for processing knowledge, if you will. As a looping, wrinkled mass, a human brain unmistakably looks like gray intestines, and it's within these thinking bowels that my experiences are broken down, consumed to become my life story. My thoughts occur as flavorful burps or acrid barf. The indigestible gristle and bone of my memories are expelled as these words.

Esse é o peixinho número 641 em uma vida repleta de peixinhos dourados. Meus pais me deram o primeiro para me ensinar como amar e cuidar de outra criaturinha viva de Deus. Seiscentos e quarenta peixinhos depois, a única coisa que sei é que tudo que você ama vai morrer. Quando você encontrar alguém especial, pode contar que um dia essa pessoa vai estar morta e enterrada.

Schlechte Erinnerungen sind besser als gar keine.

Das Einzige, was die Gegenwart genießbar macht, ist die Tatsache, dass die Vergangenheit manchmal eine Folter war.

I just don't want to die without a few scars, I say. It's nothing anymore to have a beautiful stock body. You see those cars that are completely stock cherry, right out of the dealer show room in 1955, I always think, what a waste.

Me, I'm six years old, again, and taking messages back and forth between my estranged parents. I hated this when I was six. I hate it now.

Of all the priceless objects left behind, this is what we rescue. These artifacts. Memory cues. Useless souvenirs. Nothing you could auction. The scars left from happiness. Instead

Neptej se, jestli se mi poÃ…â"¢ád stýská po rodi?ích. Neptej se mÄ›, jestli jeÅ¡tÄ› bre?ím steskem po domovÄ›. SamozÃ…â"¢ejmÄ› že mrtvým se po živých stýská.

Grief is like a cut in a strange place. You never know when you're going to bump into it, make it hurt again.

Because nobody knows you better than somebody who knew you way back then.

Time flies. Time flies faster every year. Time flies whether you're having fun or not, whether you're living your life big or small, whether you surround yourself with fear or laughter.

The apartment was entirely, was only, for her; a wall of books, both read and unread, all of them dear to her not only in themselves, their tender spines, but in the moments or periods they evoked. She had kept some books...which suggested to her that she was, or might be, a person of seriousness, a thinker in some seeping, ubiquitous way; and she had kept, too, a handful of children's books...that conjured for her an earlier, passionately earnest self.

Isn't it funny," she said, stroking with an inky finger the beads of condensation on her glass of white wine, "that year was such an unhappy one, for me. Remember poor Reza? And Skandar away so much—and that weather. Do you remember, Nora? I've never had a harder time." (Except, she said "time-e.") "I guess I didn't realize it was

I imagined that the building carried the sadness of the women who'd been trapped there...I didn't see them--there was no visible mass of ghosts peering out of the hollowed windows--but I couldn't help but feel they marked the territory.

Time, since that day has remained still. And I've dreamt of you and the sky, since that day...

The happiest moments of my life have been the few which I have passed at home in the bosom of my family. —Thomas Jefferson

We all have threads in our lives, continuous strands that reach back years, decades, entire lifetimes. The threads are what help define who we are.

No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home. —L. FRANK BAUM, THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ