Quotes About Memories

when you [lose someone], it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all nerves are still a little raw

This is what I like about photographs. They're proof that once, even if just for a heartbeat, everything was perfect.

That's the paradox of loss: How can something that's gone weigh us down so much?

When it comes to memories, the good and the bad never balance.

It does'nt matter who forgives you, if you're the one who can't forget.

I think grief is like a really ugly couch. It never goes away. You can decorate around it; you can slap a doily on top of it; you can push it to the corner of the room—but eventually, you learn to live with it.

That's what love is, when your hindsight is 20/20, and you still wouldn't change a thing.

Mistakes are like the memories you hide in an attic: old love letters from relationships that tanked, photos of dead relatives, toys from a childhood you miss. Out of sight is out of mind, but somewhere deep inside you know they still exist. And you also know that you're avoiding them.

When someone dies, it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all the nerves are still a little raw.

If you think about someone you've loved and lost, you are already with them. The rest is just details.

What you had could never make up for what you'd lost.

Memories aren't stored in the heart or the head or even the soul, if you ask me, but in the spaces between any given two people.

I wonder if the conversations you've never had with someone count, if you've been over them a thousand times in your mind.

The thinnest slice would be teeming with memories of a love so strong it turned you inside out and left you gasping, and would be an identical match to a slice stored in the heart of a soul mate.

The Inuit say that the stars are holes in heaven. And every time we see the people we loved shining through, we know they're happy.

It just goes to show you: you can put nine insane miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he'll haunt you.

Do you remember the summer we signed you up for camp? And the night before you left, you said you've changed your mind and wanted to stay home? I told you to to get a seat on the left side of the bus, so when you pulled away, you'd be able to look back and see me there waiting for you. I press her hand against my cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. You get that same seat in Heaven. One where you can watch me, watching you.

If you had to pack your whole life into a suitcase-not just the practical things, like clothing, but the memories of the people you had lost and the girl you had once been-what would you take?

Memories are like a still life painted by ten different student artists: some will be blue-based; others red; some will be as stark as Picasso and others as rich as Rembrandt; some will be foreshortened and others distant. Recollections are in the eye of the beholder; no two held up side by side will ever quite match.

We all have things that come back to haunt us. Some of us just see them more clearly than others.

What could you give me, I ask, my voice shaking, to make me forget ... that you forgot about me?

There were some people who hit your life so hard, they left a stain on your future.

Why do some memories bleed out of nowhere and others stay locked behind doors?

Could it be as simple as that? Could love be not grand gestures or empty vows, not promises meant to be broken, but instead a paper trail of forgiveness? A line of crumbs made of memories, to lead you back to the person who was waiting?