Quotes About Memories

Give my life, gladly! I will never love any person on the earth like Katya again—not even close. She was the one. I would die and be happy for only one day with her. But—" pushing his sleeve back down—"you should never get a person's name tattooed on you, because then you lose the person. I was too young to know that when I got the tattoo.

Era una quietud que yo conocía bien: así se encerraba en sí misma una casa cuando alguien moría.

The light of long ago is different from the light of today and yet here, in this house, I'm reminded of the past at every turn.

Then again: there was not exactly a word for Boris and me... It was just about drowsy air-conditioned afternoons, lonely and drunk, blinds closed against the glare, empty sugar packets and dried-up orange peels strewn on the carpet, Dear Prudence from the White Album (which Boris adored) or else the same mournful old Radiohead over and over...

I thought she was going to say, because I don't love you, which probably would have been more or less the truth, but instead, to my surprise, she said: Because I love Henry. Henry's dead. I can't help it. I still love him. I loved him, too, I said. For just a moment, I thought I felt her waver. But then she looked away. I know you did, she said. But it's not enough.

It kept being a shock every time I remembered it, a fresh slap: she was gone.

The light of long ago is different from the light of today, and yet here, in this house, I'm reminded of the past at every turn.

and though it's a bleak thing to admit all these years later, still I've never met anyone who made me feel loved the way she did.

When I walked home at night, things got white around the edges and it seemed I had no past, no memories, that I had been on this exact stretch of luminous, hissing road forever

But, I suspect, in all lives there are certain emotional scenes, those in which our passions have been most wildly and terribly roused, that are of all others the most vaguely and dimly remembered.

The reality hits hard when one wants to pick up the phone to share some experience only to remember that the loved one is not at the other end.

Homecoming means parades, football and reuniting with old friends. And as I recall from my youth, a little beer.

You know, you remind me of my younger brother. I miss that kid, so much that I sometimes regret killing him.

El dolor del duelo no es el dolor de perder, sino dolor de reencontrar lo que se perdió sabiéndolo uno irremediablemente perdido".

Guilt doesn't follow the rules of time. Most things fade with time, regret, eyesight, memories. But guilt feeds on time, and as it feeds, it grows, and when it runs out of time, it begins to gnaw on the guilty.

Do you remember the first time we made love?" He touched his lips to hers as he said it. "We rode up in the elevator like this and couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't get to each other quick enough. I was mad for you. I wanted you more than I wanted to keep breathing. I still do." He deepened the kiss as the elevator doors opened. "It's never going to change.

It would be like someone . . . looking over to Clee Hills, reflects that Housman had stood in that place, regretting his land of lost content. And, at such a time, for a few of us there will always be a tugging at the heart—knowing a precious moment gone and we not there.

Ah, those days... for many years afterwards their happiness haunted me. Sometimes, listening to music, I drift back and nothing has changed. The long end of summer. Day after day of warm weather, voices calling as night came on and lighted windows pricked the darkness and, at day-break, the murmur of corn and the warm smell of fields ripe for harvest. And being young.

We can ask and ask but we can't have again what once seemed ours for ever - the way things looked, that church alone in the fields, a bed on a belfry floor, a remembered voice, the touche of a hand, a loved face. They've gone and you can only wait for the pain to pass.

And, at such a time, for a few of us there will always be a tugging at the heart—knowing a precious moment had gone and we not there. We can ask and ask but we can't have again what once seemed ours for ever—the way things looked, that church alone in the fields, a bed on belfry floor, a remembered voice, a loved face. They've gone and you can only wait for the pain to pass.

If ever the day comes when he wakes beside me and my name doesn't come to his lips, when that bewildered look in his eyes doesn't fade away, I'll remember for us both. I won't let him forget the life we built together. I won't let him go.

Ils s'en vont, ils emportent ta naissance, ton nom et ton enfance, les secrets, les rires les chansons qui grésillent sur les postes de radio, l'odeur du café et de la coriandre, l'odeur des marchés et des chèvres, l'odeur de la vie. Ils s'en vont, ils te quittent.»

You never knew the last time you were seeing someone. You didn't know when the last argument happened, or the last time you had sex, or the last time you looked into their eyes and thanked God they were in your life. After they were gone? That was all you thought about. Day and night.

You never knew the last time you were seeing someone. You didn't know when the last argument happened, or the last time you had sex, or the last time you looked into their eyes and thanked God they were in your life. After they were gone? That was all you thought about. Day and night.