Quotes About Memories

Summertime, I think, is a collective unconscious. We all remember the notes that made up the song of the ice-cream man; we all know what it feels like to brand our thighs on a playground slide that's heated up like a knife in a fire; we all have lain on our backs with our eyes closed and our hearts beating across the surface of our lids, hoping that this day will stretch just a little longer than the last one, when in fact it's all going the other direction

there were things I knew for sure: That I had been loved, once, and had loved back. That a person could find hope in the way a weed grew. That the sum of a man's life was not where he wound up but in the details that brought him there. That we made mistakes.

I don't know what it is about death that makes it so hard. I suppose it's the one-sided communication; the fact that we never get to ask our loved one if she suffered, if she is happy wherever she is now... if she is somewhere. It's the question mark that comes with death that we can't face, not the period.

Scars are just a treasure map of pain we've buried too deep to remember.

Do we grieve because the person we lost was such a light in the world? Or do we grieve because of who he was to us?

One day, you realize there is less of your life left than what you've already lived. And you think, How did this happen so fast? It was only yesterday when I was having my first legal drink, when I was diapering him, when I was young.

LOSE someone you love, there is a tear in the fabric of the universe. It's the scar you feel for, the flaw you can't stop seeing. It's the tender place that won't bear weight. It's a void.

Stories outlive their writers all the time.

They go on to this better place, you know, which is what they wanted all along. But you and me, we're still left behind with all the questions they couldn't answer.

She was making a conscious effort to take with her all the best things about the world she wanted to leave, just in case memories could be car-ried in one's pockets and used to plot out the course of whatever it was that came next

don't know what it is about death that makes it so hard. I suppose it's the one-sided communication; the fact that we never get to ask our loved one if she suffered, if she is happy wherever she is now… if she is somewhere.

He did not have to read the careful number to know the weight of Emily's heart; he'd held it for years

If you ask me, music is the language of memories.

I would have given anything to keep her little. They outgrow us so much faster than we outgrow them.

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." Somehow

Regardez mon enfant, voyez l'éclat de ses boucles folles et son sourire pareil à un vol de papillon. Un tel visage ne peut pas être celui de quelqu'un qui meurt à petit feu. Je ne la connais que depuis deux ans. Mais si vous preniez chaque souvenir, chaque instant, si vous les étiriez bout à bout, ça ferait une éternité.

green T-Bird. When

when you held one of those volumes in your hands you were leafing through another person's life. Someone else had once loved that story, too. Someone else had carried that book in a backpack, devoured it over breakfast, mopped up that coffee stain at a Paris café, cried herself to sleep after the last chapter. The scent of their store was distinctive: a slight damp mildew, a pinch of dust. To me, it was the smell of history.

Home is the place where you know where the silverware lives, where the cups hide, where the clean plates go.

I've had cartons of milk that have lasted longer than most of my relationships.

You can take the pink hair dye out of the girl, but you never lose those roots. I took another sip of the martini. You don't know me. At the end of the bar, the other customer lifted his face to Peter Jennings and smiled. Maybe, Seven said, but neither do you.

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

We all have things that come back to haunt us. Some of us just see them more cleary than others. -Plain Truth

Scares are just a tresure map for pain you've buried too depp to remember.