Quotes About Memories

the people who matter in our lives stay with us, haunting our most ordinary moments. They're with us in the grocery store, as we turn a corner, chat with a friend. They rise up through the pavement; we absorb them through our soles.

Some memories are realities and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again." Maybe so, I think. Maybe my memories of sweeter times are vivid enough, and present enough, to overcome the disappointments that followed. And to sustain me through the rest.

A trick to play in your mind when your troubled. You think of yourself as a tree, with all the rings inside. And every ring is someone you care about, or a place you've been. You carry them with you wherever you go.

What's the best thing that happened to you in the past ten years?" I ask. "Seeing you again." Smiling, I push back against his chest. "Besides that." "Meeting you the first time.

I am ninety-one years old, and almost everyone who was once in my life is now a ghost. Sometimes these

It is a terrible thing to find the love of your life, Christina, she says. You know too well what you're missing when it's gone.

Wandering among the cardboard boxes, Vivian trails her fingertips across the tops of them, peering at their cryptic labels: The store, 1960–. The Nielsens. Valuables. "I suppose this is why people have children, isn't it?" she muses. "So somebody will care about the stuff they leave behind.

Vivian has come back to the idea that the people who matter in our lives stay with us, haunting our most ordinary moments. They're with us in the grocery store, as we turn a corner, chat with a friend. They rise up through the pavement; we absorb them through our soles.

She offers me a bull's-eye sweet, which she's stashed in her apron pocket with a half-dozen half-smoked Afton butts—a mix of flavors I'll never forget. On the front of the yellow cigarette box is a poem by Robert Burns that Gram likes to sing to an old Irish tune: Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes. Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise.

Every person you've ever cared about, and every place you've ever loved, is one of these shells. You're the thread that ties them together," she'd said, touching Mathinna's cheek. "You carry the people and places you cherish with you.

The things that matter stay with you, seep into your skin

Vivian has come back to the idea that the people who matter in our lives stay with us, haunting our most ordinary moments. They're with us in the grocery store, as we turn a corner, chat with a friend. They rise up through the pavement; we absorb them through our soles. Vivian

Las cosas que importan se quedan contigo, se filtran en tu piel.

Mrs. Scatcherd says we should make a clean slate," I say. "Let go of the past." "I can let go of the past, no problem." He picks up the wool blanket that has fallen to the floor and tucks it around the lump of Carmine's body, covering the parts that are exposed. "But I don't want to forget everything.

I believe in ghosts. They're the ones who haunt us, the ones who have left us behind. Many times in my life I have felt them around me, observing, witnessing, when no one in the living world knew or cared what happened.

The date was in your paperwork." Miss Larsen smiles, handing me a slice of currant bread. "My landlady made this." I look at her, not sure I understand. "For me?" "I mentioned that we had a new girl, and that your birthday was coming up. She likes to bake." The bread, dense and moist, tastes like Ireland. One bite and I am back in Gram's cottage, in front of her warm Stanley range.

Unwrapping the leftover currant bread at the Grotes' that evening, I tell them about my party. Mr. Grote snorts. "How ridiculous, celebrating a birth date. I don't even know the day I was born, and I sure can't remember any of theirs," he says, swinging his hand toward his kids. "But let's have that cake.

Maybe humans are like that, she thought. Maybe the moments that meant something to you and the people you've loved over the years are the rings. Maybe what you thought you'd lost is still there, inside of you, giving you strength.

other, better, memories: making fried eggs with her dad, turning them over with a large black plastic spatula. "Not so fast, Molly Molasses," he'd say. "Easy. Otherwise the eggs'll go splat.

neighborhood, the place I left each

the people who matter in our lives stay with us, haunting our most ordinary moments.

father's drinking—did I mention that?

Las cosas que importan se quedan contigo, se filtran en tu piel. La gente se hace tatuajes para tener un recordatorio permanente de las cosas que aman o de aquellas en que creen o a las que temen, pero aunque nunca lamentará la tortuga, no tiene necesidad de poner tinta en su cuerpo otra vez para recordar el pasado.

Every person you've ever cared about, and every place you've ever loved, is one of these shells. You're the thread that ties them together," she'd said, touching Mathinna's cheek. "You carry the people and places you cherish with you. Remember that and you will never be lonely,