Quotes About Memories

my earliest memories of the snow are unhappy ones. I stepped into a snow drift that was so deep I sank in up to my waist and couldn't get out.

How do you go on knowing that you will never again - not ever, ever - see the person you have loved? How do you survive a single hour, a single minute, a single second of that knowledge? How do you hold yourself together?

We'll always have Paris.

How she wished she were back at home with her family, strumming her banjo on the porch while Grampa Cornpone played the fiddle. Oh, the steamy bayou nights of her youth! Ma would cook up a huge pan of Creole innards, whilst Pa sat in the corner smoking his pipe of tabaccy with the hound dogs snoozing at his feet.

Everything I loved most happened most every day.

Even though we both won championships that year, it was events that meant more to me than what happened on the ice. It was those lessons I learned just preceding and during the championship season, which still affect me to this very day.

As I lean back in my chair, it seems like only yesterday as I think back to the mid-'80s, a time of mullets, Jordache jeans and skinny ties.

As I lay in bed before leaving for practice, I looked over on my wall and saw the collage of hockey players I did when I was 6 years old for art class. Next to that was a Pittsburgh Penguins pennant and below that was a poster of Wayne Gretzky. It was this really cool photo of him on a pond standing by a net with his Edmonton Oilers jersey on.

And we could have been sweethearts, forever and ever, Could have loved a whole lot more, been a little more true.

There will always remain more ashes than remorse.

The voice so filled with nostalgia that you could almost see the memories floating through the blue smoke, memories not only of music and joy and youth, but perhaps, of dreams. They listened to the music, each hearing it in his own way, feeling relaxed and a part of the music, a part of each other, and almost a part of the world.

Some friendships fade. Others dissolve under stress or disagreement. Still other friends just leave. Those that stick, however, are almost irreplaceable; and the sadness of long life is losing friends.

Of course, they hadn't really been happier at all. But they 'd been days, and they'd had Sarah in them, and that was near enough.

Timothy's eyes followed the straight back, the high shoulders, and the crisp white hair out of the door and out of his life -- a man, so he was to write years later, the like of whom he was never to met again, "because he was the only man I ever knew who could use words like honour, duty, and responsibility without making me feel like throwing up."

Getting stuck in the past is like guarding a cemetery.

Goodbye Kid. Hurry back. – Humphrey Bogart, last words to Lauren Bacall as she briefly left his bedside before his death.

That spot on the road was the place where he had ceased to be a boy.

My mom grew up in Kansas, my dad in Indiana. They had boring childhoods.

He had revealed the morbid psychology of the mind which has attained the October of its sensations, recounted the symptoms of souls summoned by grief and licensed by spleen, and shown the increasing decay of impressions while the enthusiasms and beliefs of youth are enfeebled and the only thing remaining is the arid memories of miseries borne, intolerances endured and affronts suffered by intelligences oppressed by a ridiculous destiny.

Enjoy your Life to the fullest , 'cause this is the time to see the world ; This time wont again again.

All the problems that came up... they all arose because of the foreign bodies within us ? things that happened in our childhood, some big, some small, but all significant; things that happened ten years ago, but still control our lives today; things from our yesterdays that will decide what we drink, dream, and doubt, till the day we die. But you can't see those things, because they're not on the outside.

Even though I decided to leave Japan, I knew that Japan would never leave me. I arrived in Tokyo when I was still unformed, callow and eager for experience. I can only hope that this eagerness will never be entirely dissipated. To be fully formed is to be dead. But Japan shaped me when the plaster was still wet.

As it turned out, heavy metal would repeatedly prove to be best inspired from a distance—where strong impressions, memories, and images were encouraged to run amok in the imagination.

A Real Love of Books All of us have a unique story to tell. We all have valuable life experiences. We have treasured memories, the building blocks that give us substance, and make us alive. We have experienced change, the birth of a child, the death of a loved one or the founding of our own town. The rise and fall of our organizations and the development or destruction of our communities. What's your story? A Real Love of Books