Quotes About Memories

This was their favorite place to meet. It always felt hidden, forgotten. The gold-lettered World Book encyclopedias from the 1980s. The smell of old glue and crumbling paper, the industrial carpet burning her palms. It reminded her of what you did when you were a little girl, making little burrows and hideaways. Like boys did with forts. Eli and his friend, stacking sofa cushions, pretending to be sharpshooters. With girls, you didn't call them forts, though it was the same.

Childhood is the fiery furnace in which we are melted down to essentials and that essential shaped for good. —KATHERINE ANNE PORTER

Because they do burn leaves here, the older folks do, and I remember now that I love it and always have. The way fall feels at night because of it, because of the crackling sound and walking around the sidewalks, like when you're a kid, and kicking those soft piles, and seeing smoke from backyards and Mr. Kilstrap standing over the metal drum with the holes in the top, the sparking embers at his feet.

People forget that old women were young once, but d'you think we old women forget? In my heart, I'm still thirty.

losing a friend is like losing a language, and I miss the one we spoke together.

From the first time you laughed with me, all those months, and all those stories," Joe said quietly. "They were all you, to me. All of them were you.

If I'd known it was going to be the last time he'd ever hold me, I'd have paid better attention.

You don't have to be sad to miss someone and wish they were still in your life.

If you're lucky, the friends you make when you're sixteen stay with you for the rest of your life. If you're smart, you know when it's time to let them go.

Once upon a time the sun hadn't risen without her thinking about Nick's smile, and the wind hadn't blown without it whispering his name.

Because my life's been so much richer for having had her in it, you see. And I know I'll see her again. I believe I will. I wouldn't trade one minute of what we had together even if it meant I'd never have to feel this way.

I didn't emerge from the cocoon of my past to become an uninhibited, emotionally healthy butterfly. Nothing is ever that easy. Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

The past is gone, Claire. It's like a sand castle washed away by the waves. We can remember what it looked like, but even if we build it again, it won't be the exactly the same.

There had been times when missing him had felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled out the part of her that remembered how to breathe. And times when she'd barely given the memories of him a second's worth of her time.

So what, then? You're a ghost? Because that's how it feels to me sometimes, Effie. You're a fucking ghost, and all you do is haunt me.

I made my goodbyes and stole away the photos of them in their youth, leaving them to what they'd made of their lives.

Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

This book is for a black light, a bottom bunk and a hug, For a doorway, a pair of kicked-off shoes and the width of a kitchen table, And as ever and always, for a blue bathrobe, a million miles of legs and a whole lot of hair. Everything that came before you is a memory, but you are the real and constant thing.

Some things never left you, no matter how much you wanted them to.

Judy Moody did not want to give up summer. She

My mother died of metastatic colorectal cancer shortly before three P.M. on Christmas Day of 2008. I don't know the exact time of her death, because none of us thought to look at a clock for a while after she stopped breathing.

Grief is a bad moon, a sleeper wave. It's like having an inner combatant, a saboteur who, at the slightest change in the sunlight, or at the first notes of a jingle for a dog food commercial, will flick the memory switch, bringing tears to your eyes.

Every man must be a part of a progressive revolution at least once in his lifetime! This will leave him great honour and great memories for the future.

Every single moment of reality instantly turns into memories; reality can not be caught; we can only catch memories.