Quotes About Memories

One thing I'd learned about moving was that once you were there, it was better to just look ahead. Because even if you went back to visit the places and people you left behind, it was never the same — except in photos.

One thing I'd learned about moving was that once you were there, it was better to just look ahead.Because if you even went back to visit the places and people you left behind, it was never the same - except in photos.

After a certain number of years, our faces become our biographies.

The whole peninsula of Florida was weighted down with regret. Everyone had left behind a real life.

A castle. Far off, in the hills in the distance. It was as if I were looking at a postcard from my childhood, the feeling was so familiar, and I thought for a moment that the castle had been built by me. I line up all the little knights that lay in the box in the basement: castle. And sheep. Sheep grazing in a nearby meadow. . . . The mortar shells began to land in that meadow, and the sheep were hit, and lay bloody, half-alive, their bowels spilling among the meadow flowers.

Even after everyone had gone home, the house was filled with the good time they'd had, as if it could linger in the air like the voices and music lingered in memory. Mina wrapped the memory up and put it in her heart; there was a quiet gladness, deep like a tree and tall in her

What ghosts I have I won't or can't give up. Impossible

A love affair is a grafting operation. "What has once been joined never forgets". There is a moment when the graft takes; up to then it is possible without difficulty the separation which afterwards comes only through breaking off a great hunk of oneself; the ingrown fibre of hours, days, years.

It is closing time in the gardens of the West.

When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers. — Czeslaw Milosz, from "I Sleep A Lot," The Collected Poems 1931— 1987 . (The Ecco Press; First Edition edition 1988)

The glamorOf childish days is upon me, my manhood is castDown in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

Friends that you have known for a long time and love very dearly never seem to grow old.

You still miss her?" "Yes, I still miss her frightfully. It's two years since she died, but I haven't got used to doing without her. I still keep on wanting to tell her things." "I know the feeling," said Louise. "I miss Mummy like that. It comes and goes. Sometimes I forget about it—and then the tide rises and I'm almost drowned. It happens quite suddenly—I never know when it's going to happen.

The strangest thing in all man's travelling is that he should carry about with him incongruous memories. There is no foreign land; it is the traveller only who is foreign, and now and then, by a flash of recollection, lights up the contrasts of the earth.

It is a terrible thing to be angry with the dead.

These walls have sheltered joys, and sorrows, and hopes and fears innumerable; they have rung with the noise of revelry and the sound of grief; children have been born, and grown to manhood and died within their shelter – and now they are crumbling to ruin, fit only for the owl and the jackdaw to live in and build their nests.

Of course I know that you have forgotten me long ago, you are not lonely like I am. You have a husband to share your life, a house to care for, a garden to enjoy, perhaps you have children. You would think it crazy that a woman you met three years ago for ten minutes should think of you as her greatest friend, but you would not grudge me the consolation of your shadowy presence if you knew what it meant to me.

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears?

I switch on the light beside my bed and the old, beautiful room takes shape – the four-poster with its carved oak pillars, the dark oak chest, the dressing table with its prude petticoat of spotted muslin, the low, uneven ceiling, the wavy oak floor. How many hundreds and thousands of people have awakened in this room; awakened to their sorrows and their joys, their hopes and their fears? Strange that I should have slept so well, untroubled by the haunting of their thoughts!

It's a great blessing to have a good memory . . . it's my picture book and I can turn over the leaves when I like. So many of my memories are centred here in Dunnian, so many people have lived in the old house. There were seven of us and they're all dead except me, but I can see them if I shut my eyes. Their youth is here—still here in Dunnian.

Roger reflected that it was a pity children had to grow up; by this time next year Stephen would be a schoolboy and the childish innocence would have vanished . . . but one could not help it of course. One could only do one's best to see that the child grew into a boy and the boy into a man smoothly, and with the least possible suffering . . . and that there were as few "nasty things" as possible in his cupboard of memory to roll out unexpectedly and make him uncomfortable.

But Father took no notice. Perhaps he had never played tip-and-run when he was a boy. As a matter of fact I could not imagine Father as a boy. I could not believe he had ever been young and small with dirty hands and untidy hair—it was incredible.

She was thinking how odd it was that children grew up so quickly and grown-up people remained much the same. It was only yesterday (or so it seemed to Dorcas) that she had carried Simon upstairs in her arms. Now he could run up the stairs much faster than she could. Tomorrow, or soon after, he would have grown too big to play bears—he would not need her anymore.

We must go back - right back to my childhood at Hinkleton Parsonage - I must try to make you see those days because the seeds which were sown then have grown into trees and are now bearing fruit. The seeds were sown, and the trees grew up, there was blossom, and then fruit - bitter fruit some of it.