Quotes About Memories

We chase after ghosts and spirits and are left holding only memories and dreams. It's not that we want what we can't have; it's that we've held all we could want and then had to watch it slip away.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on.

In my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times.

Not that happiness is dull. Only that it doesn't tell well. And of our consuming diversions as we age is to recite, not only to others but to ourselves, our own story.

You restored me to the concept of home.

This was food without you. Our loft, rich with the international booty of baskets and carvings, took on the tacky, cluttered aspect of an import outlet: This was our home without you. Objects had never seemed so inert, so pugnaciously incompensatory. Your remnants mocked me: the jump rope limp on its hook; the dirty socks, stiff, caricatured deflations of your size eleven feet.

Jayne was left an only child after her younger sister committed suicide in adolescence (a tragedy, yes, but one whose psychic statute of limitations might have run out by now - not that you'd get his wife to relinquish the trauma , which seemed to confer the special-protection status of landmark architecture.

Life may not be perfect, at least it offered moments that were perfect enough.

Memory is a curious thing. Some details stick in our minds like peanut butter on crackers, and refuse to budge, as much as we might wish they would. Other memories - heavy ones sometimes, ones that seem unbudgeable - can be plucked right out when we least expect it. Lost memories leave remnants, of course, flavors that linger in the mind, but it's difficult to taste things when you don't know they're there

Sometimes memories hit like a wallop, all of a sudden, and hard. Other times, for no reason that anyone can explain, memories take much longer to sink in. They seem to meander a bit before choosing which mind to settle into.

BOOKS BY LISA GRUNWALD Time After Time The Irresistible Henry House Whatever Makes You Happy New Year's Eve The Theory of Everything Summer

I grew up watching Monday Night Football with Howard Cosell and the other guys with my dad.

My mom died when I was 8.

even though Im no longer with her, she's still a part of me? You know, the part of love that isn't about sex, it doesn't automatically die. Or at least it doesn't have to.

But until you've experienced the incredible mix of emotions that a sibling brings to your life it's really very hard to imagine. The love and the hate, the fun and the fights, the rivalry and the kinship. No one else knows your world like a sibling does. They're there, every crap summer holiday, every day off school, every time your parents argue, every boring Christmas Day, every birthday party, they're there. And they are a part of you.

He knows there's more to life than five major events, that life is made up of all the moments in between.

Memories fluttered about her mind, of days that had passed and died and were never to return.

I had a girlfriend there. Mathilde. She was French. Quite pretty. We kissed a few times and maybe if my parents hadn't dragged me away by the scruff of my neck at that precise moment and dropped me down in the next place, maybe I'd have had a chance to develop that normality, become a guy with a core and a soul.

This year she thought of the honeyed glow of the Lansdowne, the buzz of chatter, the champagne in ice buckets on outdoor tables on warm summer days, and she thought of the little bit of money her grandmother had left her last month in her will

She didn't need 'little chunks of home'. They were like slightly sinister postcards from old enemies.

just with friends.

She hasn't seen Hanna smile for so long she'd forgotten what it looked like.

All of those messy Christmases, each a perfect gem, all gone, all turned to ash.

que a vida não é feita só de cinco grandes acontecimentos, mas sim dos momentos que ocorrem entre eles.