Quotes About Memories

sometimes tearing up at the memory, that once they were married

Ive grew up in Chingford, a town on the northeast edge of London. His father was a silversmith who taught at the local college. "He's a fantastic craftsman," Ive recalled. "His Christmas gift to me would be one day of his time in his college workshop, during the Christmas break when no one else was there, helping me make whatever I dreamed up.

One day in the fall of 2010 he was wistfully going through a box of old snapshots with me, and paused over one that showed him visiting Lisa when she was young. "I probably didn't go over there enough," he said. Since he had not spoken to her all that year, I asked if he might want to reach out to her with a call or email. He looked at me blankly for a moment, then went back to riffling through other old photographs.

On Thanksgiving weekend of his senior year, Wozniak visited the University of Colorado.

Lost time is never found again.

I'm sorry he's dead but I am happier, by far, that he lived.

often think of how so many people have walked into my life for just a few minutes and kicked up some dust, then they're gone away.

There are few more melancholy sensations than those with which we regard scenes of past pleasure when altered and deserted.

Sara gave her the scarf that it would be her last birthday? There were so many unanswered questions. Was Mama partial to the blue-and-black scarf because I gave it to her? Gulping in air and swallowing past the lump in her throat, Sara couldn't hold back her tears any more than she could all the others she had shed since her mother's death. Watching Mama slip away so fast had

I do wish, however, that Ms. Olson would give me some credit for the progress I've already made. In 1944, I filed my first 1040, reporting my income as a thirteen-year-old newspaper carrier. The return covered three pages. After I claimed the appropriate business deductions, such as $35 for a bicycle, my tax bill was $7. I sent my check to the Treasury and it — without comment — promptly cashed it. We lived in peace.

I miss school. What's wrong with me?

It's amazing how two thin pieces of clothing can hold such deep memories. Laughter, pain, victory, defeat, friendship, fatigue, elation… they're all there, but only to the person who's worn the uniform

It's amazing how two thin pieces of clothing can hold such deep memories. Laughter, pain, victory, defeat, friendship, fatigue, elation Ã¢â'¬Â¦ they're all there, but only to the person who's worn the uniform.

My life is over. Behind

In some ways it feels like forever ago. There's that ebb and flow in my mind about other things, too. Where it feels close, then far away. The Benders, the train, the bus, Louise, the library, my mother...waves of memories that wash in, then out. Close, then far. Fear's like that, too.

El que todavía estaba avergonzado por sostener mi mano dos días antes de entrar a segundo grado. El que todavía era demasiado tímido para decir mucho más que hola. El que todavía estaba caminando por ahí con mi primer beso.

Mirando atrás hacia segundo grado, me gusta pensar que era por lo mejor en parte la curiosidad científica lo que me hacía perseguir es beso, pero para ser honesta, eran probablemente más esos ojos azules.

How joyful to be together, alone as when we first were joined in our little house by the river long ago, except that now we know each other, as we did not then; and now instead of two stories fumbling to meet, we belong to one story that the two, joining, made. And now we touch each other with the tenderness of mortals, who know themselves

One of the attractions of moving away into te life of employment, I think, is being disconnected and free, unbothered by membership. It is a life of beginnings without memories, but i is a life too that ends without being remembered.

I have had playmates, I have had companions,In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days—All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

Of all sound of all bells... most solemn and touching is the peal which rings out the Old Year.

A whole stack of memories never equal one little hope.

You try for a little happiness, and what do you get? A few memories and a fat stomach!

Dear Valentine, I have thought of you often. Not all the time, but often.