Quotes About Memories

Milady," she said quietly, "I hardly recognize ye." Holly's smile wavered, and she took a deep breath. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Maude? What would my husband have said, if he had ever seen me like this?" "I think Master George would have loved to see ye in that red gown," Maude replied thoughtfully. "He was a man, after all.

She was even more exquisite than he had remembered, her eyes a dark, lucid blue. There were many beautiful women in London, but not one of them possessed her combination of intelligence and subtly off-kilter charm. He wanted to sweep her away somewhere, that very minute, and have her all to himself.

Kathleen is not heartless, you see," Helen murmured. "She feels very deep sorrow. It's only that she can't show it." Devon wasn't certain whether to thank or curse Helen for the revelations. He didn't want to feel any compassion for Kathleen. But the rejection by her parents at such a tender age would have been devastating. He understood all about the desire to avoid painful memories and emotions... the compelling need to keep certain doors closed.

Yeah, well, food is always a part of everything.

With my daughter, we do arts and crafts, we read a lot, we listen to music, and we cut the strings off balloons and bounce them around after birthday parties.

It's always good to go home.

I tried not to think of Uncle Ray as being gone forever. I just liked to imagine him on one really long Lost Weekend.

If I felt at times undersupervised, it was this same freedom that stands out as one of the pleasures of my childhood

1809If I felt at times under-supervised, it was this same freedom that stands out as one of the pleasures of my childhood.

If I felt at times undersuprvised, it was this same freedom that stands out as one of the pleasures of my childhood.

while being alone sucks, losing someone you care about is far worse. 

Memories are the enemies that never die," he says, turning away and shoving open his door, leaving me with the pain carved in those words that I am fairly certain he didn't want me to hear. But I did, and they speak to me, diving deep in my soul with the blood of my own loss, and taking root. I say I want my memories back, but I'm not so sure I really do. It's an idea I reject as I shove open my door and stand.

My mother used to say that to me and my brother, Gio, and even in the years since she passed, the words echo in my mind, as I know they must in my brother's. After all, we heard those words on nearly a daily basis from the moment our father disappeared until the moment our mother died seven years later.

The sun is setting when I arrive back at Accent Collectibles

Memories are the enemies that never die...

It's hard to let go of objects because they are full of stories...They speak to us of the life we had, and the lives we never knew...We can, in fact, never be free of our stuff until we have dealt with the stories it carries. In the end, it does indeed tell us something about who we are.

My father, too, sacrificed more than I will ever know. As a little girl, I simply adored him and now that I'm grown, I still have to have my weekly "daddy fix." If you passed me on the freeway on any given weekend, you'd see me taking advantage of my free weekend minutes to talk to him on my cell phone.

All of life is quilted from the scraps of what once was and is no more- the places we have been, the memories we have made, the people we have known, that which has been long loved but has grown threadbare over time and can be worn no longer. We keep only pieces. All colors, all shapes, all sizes. "All waiting to be stitched into the pattern only you can see.

My roses grew wild and died as I busied myself with feeding and diapering, nursery rhymes and sickbeds.......the best times of my life, the times that passed by me the most quickly, were the times when the roses grew wild

I remember lost loves, and loves that never were.

But is life a success when it doesn't include time for after-school talks, and curling up to read books on winter nights, and weaving daisy chains in the summer? Is it a success when you have all the big things but none of the small ones? Is it as it should be when everybody grows up and moves to opposite coasts and doesn't care if they ever see each other?

I leaf through more pages, wondering, remembering, thinking about this watershed year. Life can turn on a dime. The appointment book reinforces my new awareness of this. We plan our days, but we don't control them.

I have written all of them' She shows me her work, while I look down in wonder. 'These pages, by the beginning letter of the surname.' She turns to a page with R, which is a letter I know, there at the top, she reads off, 'Amalee August Rain.' I sit down beside her and she gives it over to me, an I turn through all the pages. 'I'll be,' I whisper. 'A book of lost friends.

That's really nice." I picture my mother and my aunt, a little over four years apart in age, curled up in the same bed, sharing innocent games of Let's Pretend. It makes the present situation seem that much sadder. Should geography and real estate signs outweigh the bonds formed by the shared milestones of childhood?