Quotes About Memories

When I was five my parents bought me a ukulele for Christmas. I quickly learned how to play it with my father's guidance. Thereafter, my father regularly taught me all the good old fashioned songs.

Our last jam session was this past Christmas. Dad played his harmonica, mom sang in English and Italian, and I played guitar. I'm so happy that we could share that musical experience for one last time.

My dad's sense of humor was direct and sometimes surreal - his quick wit is well known amongst our family and friends. He raised me on Spike Jones records and W.C. Fields movies, and his sense of humor fell somewhere in between.

I remember driving to North Carolina when I was a little girl in a snowstorm to get down to my mom's family in the Carolinas. There were chains on the car - it was the late sixties - and we were just singing in the car. Christmas carols.

Whenever something happens that makes me laugh or if I remember something in the middle of the night that I want to share, I jot the experience down.

It was, you know, probably 80 degrees out in L.A., and my dad took me outside and there was snow. At the time, I thought, 'Every kid doesn't have snow in their backyard on Christmas?'

Wherever you turn, you run up against your childhood and hurt yourself because it's sharp-edged and hard, and stops only when it has torn you completely apart. It seems that everyone has their own and each is totally different. My brother's childhood is very noisy, for example, while mine is quiet and furtive and watchful. No one likes it and no one has any use for it.

Time passed and my childhood grew thin and flat, paperlike. It was tired and threadbare, and in low moments it didn't look like it would last until I was grown up.

Nu vallen de laatste resten van mij af als schilfers van een door de zon verbrande huid en eronder komt een ongepaste, onmogelijke volwassene tevoorschijn. Ik lees in mijn poesiealbum terwijl de nacht langs het raam wandelt en zonder dat het doorheb, glijdt mijn kindertijd stilletjes naar de bodem van mijn herinneringen, die bibliotheek van het gemoed, waaruit ik voor de rest van mijn hele bestaan kennis en ervaring zal opdiepen.

Childhood is dark and it's always moaning like a little animal that's locked in a cellar and forgotten. It comes out of your throat like your breath in the cold, and sometimes it's too little, other times too big. It never fits exactly. It's only when it has been cast off that you can look at it calmly and talk about it like an illness you've survived.

A gyerekkor hosszú és sz?k, mint egy koporsó, és egyedül nem lehet kijutni bel?le.

Aikuisten lapsuus roikkuu repaleisena ja puhkottuna heidän sisimmässään kuin käytetty ja koinsyömä matto jota kukaan ei ajattele eikä tarvitse. Heistä ei näe että heillä on ollut lapsuus, eikä heiltä uskalla kysyä miten he käyttäytyivät päästäkseen sen läpi ilman että se jätti heidän kasvoihinsa syviä arpia ja jälkiä.

Ole iloinen, jos edes unessa saat elää lapsuuden keväät.

All men have parties and are pals who never let each other down. A pal can say terrible things which are forgotten the next day. A pal never forgives, he just forgets, and a woman forgives but never forgets. That's how it is. That's why women aren't allowed to have parties. Being forgiven is very unpleasant.

People carry their loved ones with them. They are forever present.

People carry their loved ones with them. They are forever present, and life is full of easily grasped opportunities to show them one's affection. It costs so little and achieves so much.

Of course it [the robe] smelled -- that was part of its charm. Smell is important. It reminds a person of all the things he's been though; it is a sheath of memories and security.

Märkvärdigt att en så stor och långdragen besvikelse så kvickt kan glömmas for en ny förälskelse men så var det.

His thoughts glided along like the boat, without memories or dreams, they were like grey wandering waves that didn't even want to reach the horizon." (p.160)

Dlaczego nie pozwolÄ… mi nigdy zachowa? moich wspomnieÅ" o wÄ™drówkach tylko dla siebie? Czy nie mogÄ… zrozumie?, ?e gadaniem niszczÄ… wszystko? JeÅ›li im opowiadam, to potem nic nie zostaje. PamiÄ™tam tylko swoje wÅ'asne opowiadanie, kiedy staram siÄ™ przypomnie? sobie, jak byÅ'o.

Pappan tystnade och började bekymrad bläddra i memoarerna. Tycker ni jag har använt för ovanliga ord? frågade han. Det gör nog inget, sa Mumintrollet. Det var ju för så länge sen och man kan nästan gissa vad du menar.

I'm still that little girl who lisped and sat in the back of the car and threw vegetables at the back of her head when we drove home from the market. That never goes.

A tender smile softened his face. "That would be Esme. She's nine and a delight. I haven't seen much of her these past few years, but she writes me letters. Sends me drawings as well. I have a likeliness of every cat, hound, and horse she's ever met, and considering the menagerie she keeps in the country at Clybourne, that's a great many indeed.

In the '70s, everything shone as bright as brass.