Quotes About Memories

Loss comes in every moment. Second by second our lives are stolen from us. What is last will never come again.

Although I'd had no trouble looking at the casket the day before, on that Saturday I did my best to keep my eyes averted. I stared instead at the stained-glass window behind the altar and imagined shooting the panes out with a slingshot.

They're never far from us, you know. ... The dead. No more'n a breath. You let the last one go and you're with them again.

my mother heated Campbell's tomato soup and made grilled cheese sandwiches with Velveeta and we ate dinner and afterward watched Have Gun—Will Travel.

HISTORY, IN CORK'S OPINION, was a useless discipline, an assemblage of accounts and memories, often flawed, that in the end did the world no service. Math and science could be applied in concrete ways. Literature, if it didn't enlighten, at least entertained. But history? History was simply a study in futility. Because people never learned.

Memories sing to us, he told me. They're birds whose songs never fade.

We piled into the car, a 1955 Packard Clipper the color of canned peas that my mother had named Lizzie.

In a way, he was afraid that to let go of the grieving would be to let go of his father forever.

Maybe the dead have finally gone to rest." "They never do, Bo." He thought about the dead who were with him now and who always would be, and he knew Otter was right.

Ghosts. There were too many of them in his life now. He lifted his glass, and with the last swallow of his sherry, he toasted the dead.

How do you go to your own house when something has gone bad on the inside, when it doesn't seem like your place to live anymore, when you almost cannot recall living there although it was the place you mostly ate and slept for all your grown-up life? Try to remember two or three things about living there. Try to remember cooking one meal.

The rest-the vast majority, tens of thousands of days-are unremarkable, repetitive, even monotonous. We glide through them then instantly forget them. We tend not to think about this arithmetic when we look back on our lives. We remember the handful of Big Days and throw away the rest. We organize our long, shapeless lives into tidy little stories...But our lives are mostly made up of junk, of ordinary, forgettable days, and 'The End' is never the end.

In small letters, now a little blurry, it read Omnia mea mecum porto, Latin for "All that is mine I carry with me.

in the living room, old grandmas, baby cousins.

Forbidding as the school was, at least I had a new friend. Jeff and I hit it off right away. We were inseparable. It was one of those childhood friendships that was so natural and uncomplicated, we seemed to discover it more than we created it. I have no adult friendships like the one I had with Jeff. I am sure I never will. Once we slip on the armor of adulthood, we lose the ability to form that kind of naive, unqualified connection.

So much of who we are is where we have been.

If, looking back upon the lengthened way My feet have trod, since, long ago, I left Those well-known shores, and when mine eyes are filled With tears, I take the pencil in its turn, and shading light the landscape spread below..."

Petals floating by, Drift through my womans hand, As she remembers me.

Are not there little chapters in everybody's life, that seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of the history?

Listen, / my wary one, it's far too late / to unlove each other.

Old Songs are more than tunes. They are little houses in which our hearts once lived. When we hear them we go visiting—we walk forgotten streets, we smile again at the skies of youth.

The year came and receded like any other leaving its flotsam of the grotesque, the memorable, the trivial.

Nekaj si moraš zapominiti o vodki, Jakob: vodka ne puš?a madežev.

That was what getting old was all about, she'd begun to realize: a growing heap of memories piling up around you, a Mount Everest of memories. The very opposite of being young, when the ground ahead lay level and bare, a vast open space that stretched on forever and ever, waiting to be explored.