Quotes About Memories

We were very happy; and that evening, as the last of its race, and destined evermore to close that volume of my life, will never pass out of my memory.

When my thoughts go back, now, to that slow agony of my youth, I wonder how much of the histories I invented for such people hangs like a mist of fancy over well-remembered facts!

It's a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one's own past, with the day breaking.

Well! It was only their love for me, I know very well, and it is a long time ago. I must write it even if I rub it out again, because it gives me so much pleasure. They said there could be no east wind where Somebody was; they said that wherever Dame Durden went, there was sunshine and summer air.

What you have lost will not be returned to you; it always be lost. You're left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on, or not. But if you go on, it's knowing you carry your scars with you.

A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered. Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.

Happy is he who still loves something that he loved in the nursery: he has not been broken in two by time; he is not two men, but one, and he has saved not only his soul but his life.

You breathe in the glory of the new apple blossom and the girl heart rises up through all the world-mold that the years have gathered, and the lost thrill is back again.

the glow from one magical kiss will light several years

The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.

I love my love with a B... because in our teens we stayed all night at each other's house on alternate Saturdays and read aloud until four in the morning Brontë's "Jane Eyre"... (but not without weeping)!

No man is rich enough to buy back his past.

The memories you have are just recordings of things past, not chains to bind you.

Voluptuous bloom and fragrance rare The summer to its rose may bring; Far sweeter to the wooing air The hidden violet of spring. Still, still that lovely ghost appears, Too fair, too pure, to bid depart; No riper love of later years Can steal its beauty from the heart.

Adulthood is when the ghosts of childhood appear.

Life is a rough biography. Memories smooth out the edges.

The Face we choose to miss, Be it but for a day – As absent as a hundred years When it has rode away.

If you lend someone $20, and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.

The infant opens its intelligence and love to the mother's song as much as to the mother's face... Every mother ought to sing. Let memories that begin life have songs that last for life.

Our lives are like quilts — bits and pieces, joy and sorrow, stitched with love.

Grandma-quilts have love in every stitch.

We could never have loved the earth so well if we had had no childhood in it...

We all have in our hearts a secret place where we keep, free from the contact of the world, our sweetest remembrances.

Each day of our lives we make deposits into the memory banks of our children.