Quotes About Memories

We are talking now of summer evenings in Knoxville Tennessee in the time that I lived there so successfully disguised to myself as a child.

And the air is new. And everything, instant by instant, is as it is, preparing to appear. [...] This is the only way I can live now. To be reborn moment by moment. [...] I die at every instant, and I am reborn, new and without memories: live and whole, no longer inside myself, but in every thing outside.

The women posed for snapshots. Dozens of snapshots. . . . They imagined that, long after the soldiers had become old, perhaps even after they'd died, someone would come to wonder about these women holding up rifles or tommy guns or donuts and laughing with their grandfathers in front of the big dark truck.

Pobre de aquel, que no hizo de su infancia Una leyenda.

cada cual es un poco la historia de las habitaciones que lo han cobijado y de los ruidos que se ha acostumbrado a escuchar.

Você está atormentado por uma coisa que aconteceu quando você tinha doze anos? — Essas são as coisas que realmente nos atormentam. As outras são apenas problemas.

This morning someone sent me a very funny photo of me holding their puppy. We have matching colour jackets.

You're going to live your life. You're going to honor him doing things you would have done if he'd never gotten sick and died

We grew up together but we won't grow old together.

Next year, when you return, you'll bring the ashes back and toss them onto that year's bonfire. In this way, each of us comes back to this place, bringing some of the past, leaving with some of the future. Will those of you who have ashes from last year please bring them forward?" he asked.

Her mom's voice trembled as she read aloud: "We lost our beloved Sandy yesterday, 10 A.M. Stop. She died peacefully — no pain. Stop. We're flying her home to West Virginia for burial. Stop. Package for Dawn to follow. Stop. The Chandlers.

O menininho brinca no tapete enquanto nós adultos rimos contando coisas da infância do pai dele e dos tios. Ele ergue o rosto e indaga: — Do que vocês estão falando? — Da infância — responde alguém. — Infância é legal? — Muito. — A gente não pode viajar pra lá? Era o que estávamos fazendo

The Dog Hair The dog is gone. We miss him. When the doorbell rings, no one barks. When we come home late, there is no one waiting for us. We still find his white hairs here and there around the house and on our clothes. We pick them up. We should throw them away. But they are all we have left of him. We don't throw them away. We have a wild hope—if only we collect enough of them, we will be able to put the dog back together again.

The people in your happy memories have to be the same people who want to have you in their own happy memories.

If I am playing a board game with people close to me and we are happy, I must be sure we don't quarrel before the end of it. I must be sure that at some later time we don't play another board game that is unhappy. I should check now and then to make sure I am not alone too much, or unhappy with other people too often. I should add them up, now and then: what are my happy memories so far?

That fall, after the summer when they both died, she and my father, there was a point when I wanted to say to them, All right, you have died, I know that, and you've been dead for a while, we have all absorbed this and we've explored the feelings we had at first, in reaction to it, surprising feelings, some of them, and the feelings we're having now that a few months have gone by--- but now it's time for you to come back. You have been away long enough.

The first New Year after they died felt like another betrayal--we were leaving behind the last year in which they had lived, a year they had known, and starting on a year that they would never experience.

Farewell to thee, farewell to thee…Until we meet again.

No music is so pleasant to my ears as that word—father.

Over the river and through the wood, To grandfather's house we go The horse knows the way To carry the sleigh, Through the white and drifted snow.

Sentei-me no chão roendo os sequilhos e chorando porque queria a minha mãe, não a que saiu de mantilha mas a que ficou no retrato.

Most of us can remember a time when a birthday -- especially if it was one's own -- brightened the world as if a second sun had risen.

Many deeply hidden memories have come flooding back. The important message here though is that it is possible to heal and survive. Everyone has survived their own kind of emotional or mental trauma. We all have our inner fears and misreplaced feelings of guilt.

Like most rural girls, I had graduated from the Volkschule