Quotes About Memories

Cualquier cosa que me recuerde a ti, me entristece tanto que no lo puedo soportar.

it was one of those revolutionary gestures that you laugh about years later, when you're remembering the good old days when you were political.

Bütün hayat?m Ä°stanbul'un yak?l?p, y?k?l?p, tahrip edilip deÄŸiÅŸtirilmesinin hikayesidir. Bu, insan?n kendi hat?ralar?n?n, kendi hat?rlad?klar?n?n, baÄŸl? olduÄŸu sokaklar?n, çevrelerin, neredeyse haf?zas?na, ezberine ald??? görüntülerin yok edilmesi hikâyesidir ve benim için çok draml?, ac?l? ve a??r bir hikâyedir.

Samiha le había destrozado el corazón al recordarle que hubo un tiempo en que no lo había amado. En momentos como ese, en el que todos los fracasos e insatisfacciones de su vida parecían inundarlo por dentro como una oleada de arrepentimiento, su mente volvía automáticamente a Rayiha.

If we've lived in a city long enough to have given our truest and deepest feelings to its prospects, there comes a time when—just as a song recalls a lost love—particular streets, images, and vistas will do the same.

The poem Ka wrote during the ensuing silence, without a single pause or missing word, he would later call 'Heaven'. If he placed it on the 'Imagination' axis of the snowflake, far from the centre, right at the top, this was not to suggest that Heaven was the future of which we dream: for Ka, Heaven was the place where you kept alive the dreams of your memories.

with a sad smile she would recount the time our grandfather was so displeased with our grandmother's okra stew that in a fit of temper he threw the pot out the window into the deep, fast-running waters of the Bosphorus.

Eskiden Ä°stanbul daha fakir, daha küçük, daha mutluydu deseler inanmazd?m belki, ama kalbim böyle diyordu. Çünkü arkamda b?rakt???m sevgilimin evi yerli yerinde ?hlamur ve kestane aÄŸaçlar?n?n içindeydi, ama kap?dan sordum bir baÅŸkas? oturuyordu art?k orada.

In those moments, he would realize that this city where he'd spent forty years of his life, where he'd passed through thousands and thousands of doors, getting to know the insides of people's homes, was no less an ephemeral thing than the life he'd lived there and the memories he'd made.

How many people delay the kindness, the expression of love, until the person is dead, beyond their reach, and then try to atone for a neglected past by flowers and tears at the funeral!

The future is a hundred thousand threads, but the past is a fabric that can never be rewoven.

Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they're gone.

I cut the wood however I like, but it's the grain that decides the strength and shape of it. You can add and subtract memories from people, but it isn't just your memory that makes you who you are. There's something in the grain of the mind.

Their friendship, remembered from the battle school days, gradually disappeared. It was to each other that they became close; it was with each other that they exchanged confidences.

The only people who think children are carefree are the ones who've forgotten their own childhood.

You must be good company for yourself. Not me. My memories. Maybe that's who you are, what you remember.

Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they're gone." - Valentine Wiggin

I don't know what's going on in the world, he said. Everything seemed so reasonable and scientific until I discovered my son was a fraud with the ability to hide my own memories from me. And now you come along. The captain at the gate told me you were executed and buried yesterday. He spoke to you? He didn't say a word to me, I said. Don't change the subject, young man. I'm accusing you of violating the laws of nature. Nature's virtue is intact. I just know some different laws.

Or maybe laughter was how they pushed painful memories out of their minds. Perhaps laughter was the only way they could keep from killing each other.

Everyone dies. Everyone leaves. What matters is the things you build together before they go. What matters is the part of them that continues in you when they're gone.

It's better to lose someone you love...than to have no one to lose.

Thus a man hates the house they lived in together, because either he does not change it, so that it is as dead as his wife, or because he does change it, so that it is no longer half of their making.

But it could wait until they got back. That was the nice thing about the past—it stayed right where you put it until you needed to pick it up again.

No man is rich enough to buy back his past.