Quotes About Memories

But suddenly it would come over her, if he were with me now what would he say? Some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning–indeed they did.

one must pay back from this secret deposit of exquisite moments, she thought

children never forget. For this reason, it was so important what one said, and what one did, and it was a relief when they went bed. For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of--to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

Quién no piensa en el pasado en un jardín con hombres y mujeres tumbados bajo los árboles? ¿Acaso estos hombres y mujeres, estos fantasmas tumbados bajo los árboles, no son nuestro pasado, todo lo que queda de él..., nuestra felicidad, nuestra realidad?

And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again.

I see again my schoolroom in Vyra, the blue roses of the wallpaper, the open window.… Everything is as it should be, nothing will ever change, nobody will ever die.

Life with you was lovely—and when I say lovely, I mean doves and lilies, and velvet, and that soft pink 'v' in the middle and the way your tongue curved up to the long, lingering 'l.' Our life together was alliterative, and when I think of all the little things which will die, now that we cannot share them, I feel as if we were dead too.

I grew, a happy, healthy child in a bright world of illustrated books, clean sand, orange trees, friendly dogs, sea vistas and smiling faces.

The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes.

Where is the happiness, the sunshine, where are those thick skittles of wood which crashed and bounced so nicely, where is my bicycle with the low handlebars and the big gear? It seems there's a law which says that nothing ever vanishes, that matter is indestructible; therefore the chips from my skittles and the spokes of my bicycle still exist somewhere to this day. The pity of it is that I'll never find them again - never.

As to the past, I would not mind retrieving from various corners of space-time certain lost comforts, such as baggy trousers and long, deep bathtubs.

And I still have other smothered memories, now unfolding themselves into limbless monsters of pain.

I will never go back. For the simple reason that all the Russia I need, after all, is with me--always with me. Her literature, her language, my own Russian childhood. I will never return, I will never surrender.

One night between sunset and river On the old bridge we stood, you and I. Will you ever forget it, I queried, - That particular swift that went by? And you answered, so earnestly: Never! And what sobs made us suddenly shiver, What a cry life emitted in flight! Till we die, till tomorrow, for ever, You and I on the old bridge one night.

I tore apart the fantasies of Poe, And dealt with childhood memories of strange Nacreous gleams beyond the adults' range.

me pregunto si fue entonces, en el resplandor de aquel verano remoto, cuando empezó a hendirse mi vida.

Oh, said Haze, poor me should know, I went through that when I was a kid: boys twisting one's hair, hurting one's breasts, flipping one's skirt.

Tengo la habilidad de verter torrentes de lágrimas evocando tempestades pasadas

And for a minute she became thoughtful, ac- complishing during that one minute, as sometimes hap- pens, a long leisurely journey: she set off into Luzhin's past, dragging Valentinov with her, visualizing him, from his voice, in horn rimmed spectacles and long-legged, and as she journeyed through the mi^t she looked for a spot where she could dump the slippery, repulsively wriggling Valentinov, but she could not find one because she knew almost nothing about Luzhin's youth.

He tried to recall his best moments with her, but those moments were poisoned forever.

She was soon ready, and they kissed tenderly in their hallway, between lift and stairs, before separating for a few minutes. 'Tower,' she murmured in reply to his questioning glance, just as she used to do on those honeyed mornings in the past, when checking up on happiness: 'And you?' 'A regular ziggurat.

we were bristling at each other as if she were still mine.

Uncle Dan was feeding.

I once spent a year in Philadelphia, I think it was on a Sunday.