Quotes About Memories

Bella was six years old. She was a yellow Labrador retriever.

The day in Pico Mundo when I lost Stormy will forever be the worst day of my life, although since then each place I go seems in one way or another to be darker than the place before it.

The death of a child forever scars a mother's heart.

I wondered if he thought of me or if he'd put me out of his heart as effectively as he'd put me out of his life.

those years didn't happen and take

One adjusts, although you never fully recover from the loss of a loved one.

Vero Beach," she said. "That's where Ruth's class reunion is taking place.

Still, I remained curious. Abby Kincaid had flown in from Florida, which was about as far away from Cedar Cove as a person could get while remaining in the continental United States. She appeared to be happy for her brother and his bride, but she didn't seem pleased to be in town. She'd mentioned that it'd been over ten years since she was last in Cedar Cove, but surely there were school friends she'd want to see.

Your mama did. We sat

I buried my grief for my son, not my memories, but my grief.

There was no true recovery from the loss of a child. A part of her was broken and it couldn't be fixed.

He rose and walked to the windows. The moon reflected the pristine whiteness blowing into shadowy silvery mounds beneath the stars. It spread out before him, all pure and flowing and sterling. There'd always been a gentle peace and welcome solitude on a wintry night in this house. A place of memories and innocent times; a place for new plans.

We don't discuss death. Not that we avoid it. It's just that here, we're preoccupied with life.

Now he wasn't going to be here to love me or to talk to me. To have conversations with me about everything. Stuff. What was on his mind.

Time lets the past slip away from all but your heart.

In this our life there are no beginnings but only departures entitled beginnings, wreathed in the formal emotions thought to be appropriate and often forced. Darkly rises each moment from the life which has been lived and which does not die, for each event lives in the heavy head forever, waiting to renew itself.

Memories assailed him of how gently she had spoken, touched, and moved; of how she'd loved him fiercely despite his mistakes and obsessions and weaknesses. And the conviction descended on him that love like theirs couldn't possibly suffer any change.

Now he slept soundly through the nights, and often he dreamed of trains, and often of one particular train: He was on it; he could smell the coal smoke; a world went by. And then he was standing in that world as the sound of the train died away. A frail familiarity in these scenes hinted to him that they came from his childhood. Sometimes he woke to hear the sound of the Spokane International fading up the valley and realized he'd been hearing the locomotive as he dreamed.

while the jukebox sang softly to itself.

A good life is a collection of happy moments.

His eyes raked her form, and she knew he was remembering too. Remembering the feel of their lips moving together, the feel of their bodies pressed together, the feel of stirring desire. Embarrassment licked her cheeks. He, on the other hand, looked her right in the eye, bold as a grizzly and twice as smug. No regrets here, they seemed to say. He cocked a brow just to make it clear he'd welcome a repeat right here and now.

We were supposed to grow old together, Dolores. Have kids. Take walks under old trees. I wanted to watch the lines etch themselves into your flesh and know when each and every one of them appeared. Die together.

How am I supposed to let you go, that's all I'm asking. I want to hold you again, smell you, and, yes too, I just want you to fade. To please, please fade...

She died in a fire. I miss her like you... If I was underwater, I wouldn't miss oxygen that much.