Quotes About Memories

New Year's cards from friends — colored patterns of my life

But the boy was there, and he was looking at her. That was when Yorda understood what was drawing out her memories of the castle into the boy. It was him. He wanted to know its dark past. He wanted to know everything. No one could stop this. Not even the queen.

On the evening my mother-in-law died, the noise of a chance sudden downpour resounded in the walkway and through the garden, roaring as though everything around us were being hammered by a fall of pebbles. That was why I was unable to catch what she said in the last moments before her eyes closed.

One Christmas my father kept our tree up till March. He hated to see it go. I loved that.

Run On" started with an ostinato piano part, and I passed the exit for the Holiday Inn where Robert Downey Jr. and his family had lived when they were moving out of Darien. Robert Downey Jr. had been my best friend in third grade. We'd bonded because we were both neurotic eight-year-olds, and his parents and my mom were the only adults in Darien who smoked pot.

We are all refugees from our childhoods. And so we turn, among other things, to stories. To write a story, to read a story, is to be a refugee from the state of refugees. Writers and readers seek a solution to the problem that time passes, that those who have gone are gone and those who will go, which is to say every one of us, will go. For there was a moment when anything was possible. And there will be a moment when nothing is possible. But in between we can create.

And so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born.

Laramie sparkles from up there...I mean it just blows you away. Matt was right there in that spot, and I can just picture in his eyes, I can just picture what he was seeing. The last thing he saw on this earth was the sparkling lights.

rabbit stews and custard puddings riddled

I loved him in the way that one loves those who no longer matter: poignantly.

I want to believe that memories, even sad and painful ones, should not be forgotten forever.

I can't stay," said Chanu, and they clung to each other inside a sadness that went beyond words and tears, beyond that place, those causes and consequences, and became a part of their breath, their marrow, to travel with them from now to wherever they went.

You will be my favorite ex," I whispered in his ear. "I'll be your fifth former wife. We'll mutter crazy dreams together then apart, but you will always be with me." His breath was warm and so very human, not demonic at all. He said, "Don't break my nose." I said, "I won't even break your heart.

I lost my dad way too early and it was agonisingly awful. I missed him so much and I hated knowing that I could never again pick up the phone to tell him about my day.

I was no good at all at the jitterbug, as I have just now demonstrated, but then this other song came on, a song from a movie. . . . "Tammy." About a girl falling in love. I haven't thought of that song for years. Debbie Reynolds sang it, in a voice that would put you in mind of maple syrup.

a thousand songs that made people bite their lips and bob their heads, recalling a place they once lived, a person they once loved, a version of themselves they'd forgotten.

The packet of fading photos gives it away if you know how to look: always a rundown porch landing and stair rails behind, always a child squinting into strong sunlight and a grim-faced adult skulking in shadow. What must it have been like to grow up in that silence?

Qu'est-ce qu'un rire après tout? Une explosion d'enfance partagée.

And so, like a courtesan, forced to perform the dance of the seven veils, I grudgingly reveal the names, one by one, of the cities that have carved their names into me, leaving behind the scar tissue that forms the bulk of who I am.

I had been riding horses before my memory kicked in, so my life with horses had no beginning. It simply appeared from the fog of infancy. I survived a difficult childhood by traveling on the backs of horses, and in adulthood the pattern didn't change.

When a child is born, I once explained to the kids, some dads lay down bottles of wine for them that will mature when they grow up into ungrateful adults. Instead, what you're going to get from me, as each of you turns sixteen, is a library of the one hundred books that gave me the most pleasure when I was a know-nothing adolescent.

C'è chi colleziona francobolli, o scatole di fiammiferi» mi ha detto una volta. «Tu collezioni rancori».

and then I began to drift, fighting tears. I used to come here with Miriam. Miriam, my heart's desire. What was troubling her this morning? Maybe Kate had reproached her on the phone for leaving me? How dare Kate. Oh yeah? Go for it, my darling. Remind her of what she's missing. No, don't.

Yes, carbon paper, if any of you out there are old enough to remember what that was. Why, in those days we not only used carbon paper but when you phoned somebody you actually got an answer from a human being on the other end..