Quotes About Memories

It was Lavender who drove us to the Norfolk Hotel in Jock's yellow Bugatti. He sped through the streets of Nairobi, throwing me across the leather backseat towards Jock, so that I nearly bruised myself against his clenched thighs.

Under buttery gravy, there was the ubiquitous tommie steak with buttons of potatoes and pearled onions. My father was paying through the nose for the champagne, so I drank as much as I could, every time it came round.

Many other dear ghosts were glinting from the past, winks of light playing along the rims of our wineglasses, reminding us of how reckless they'd been and how magnificent.

playground studded with one of those

would all trickle through my fingers like so much red dust, for as long as childhood lasted it was a heaven fitted

Old lovers are like socks. They always show up full of static cling and missing their mate.

Memories are the 'snapshots of the mind' we carry with us wherever we go so we don't have to carry the weight of an album around. 'Pictures' are for sharing our 'happy times and wonderful experiences' with others, of God's world so they can enjoy our memories too.

Down the corridor, the staircase was decorated with paintings of them all, her and Mum and Grandad and countless other similar faces that stared out at her and reminded her, as she climbed down the stairs, that men and women may come and go, be born and die, but the family goes on and stays the same forever.

Some words were like that. Whole lives attached to them. Ghosts and lives and ecstasy and sorrow.

Oh,to be walking through Leningrad white night after white night, the dawn to dusk all smelting together like platinum ore, Tatiana thought, turning away to the wall, again to the wall, the wall, as ever. Alexander, my nights, my days, my every thought. You will fall away from me in just a while, won't you, and I'll be whole again, and I will go on and feel for someone else, the way everyone does. But my innocence is forever gone.

Alexander, my nights, my days, my every thought. You will fall away from me in just a while, won't you, and I'll be whole again, and I will go on and feel for someone else, the way everybody does. But my innocence is gone forever.

Tania," he whispers, "promise me you won't forget me when I die." "You won't die, soldier," she says. "You won't die. Live! Live on, breathe on, claw onto life, and do not let go. Promise me you will live for me, and I promise you, when you're done, I will be waiting for you." She is sobbing. "Whenever you're done, Alexander, I will be here, waiting for you.

Falling in love with you in the Summer Garden in the white nights in Leningrad is the moment that propels me through life.

Where was he, her Alexander, of once? Was he truly gone? The Alexander of the Summer Garden, of their first Lazarevo days, of the hat in his hands, white toothed, peaceful, laughing, languid, stunning Alexander, had he been left far behind? Well, Tatiana supposed that was only right. For Alexander believed his Tatiana of once was gone, too. The swimming child Tatiana of the Luga, of the Neva, of the River Kama. Perhaps on the surface they were still in their twenties, but their hearts were old.

The Field of Mars, June, death, life, white nights, Dasha, Dimitri, the all came… And went. But there Alexander still was, standing on that street, on that curb, in the sun, looking at her under the elms, looking at provenance across from him provenance in a white dress with red roses, licking her ice cream with red lips, singing. His and only his for one hundred minutes, blink of an eye and gone. It all was.

No! he wanted to cry out. No, Tania, please come back. What can I leave her with, what can I say, what one word can I leave with her, for her? What one word for my wife? "Tatiasha," Alexander called after her. God, what was the curator's name...? She glanced back. "Remember Orbeli-

We've had a minute, Tatiana thought. We had our minutes on the bus. And at Kirov. We had our minutes in Lugo. And in the Summer Garden. Breathless minutes, we had. What we want, she thought, keeping herself from welling up, is eternity.

Es que no te acuerdas de lo que te dije en Berlín, cuando estábamos perdidos en el bosque, luchando para rebelarnos contra nuestro destino? —Sí —le contestó Tatiana, rodeándole el cuello con las manos, cerrando los ojos—. Dijiste que ya me habías dejado marchar una vez, que viviríamos juntos o moriríamos juntos. —Eso es —dijo Alexander—. Y esta vez, viviremos juntos.

During the day she carried her boy, bandaged and fed the wounded, leaving her own festering wounds until night-time when she licked them and nursed them, and remembered the pines and the fish and the river and the ase and the woods and the fire and the blueberries and the smell of cigarette smoke and the loud laughter coming from one male throat.

Hello, Tatiana. I'm Alexander. Have we met before?

Tatiana... Tatiana... Ta... tiana... —Calla, por favor. —No lo olvides. Dondequiera que estés, si puedes mirar al cielo y ver la constelación de Verseo, si ves su sonrisa y oyes cómo el viento estelar susurra tu nombre, sabrás que te estoy llamando para que vuelvas a Lazarevo. —No tendrás que llamarme, soldado —dice Tatiana, apoyando la cara en el brazo deAlexander—. Nunca me iré de aquí.

Breathing in Shepelevo was like hitting the right note on the piano. There was only one note. When I was young, Shepelevo was the smell of nettles, of salted smoked fish, of fresh water from the Gulf of Finland, and of burning firewood, all wrapped up in one Shepelevo.

She ate it and cried. Soon, he put the melting ice cream away. "Shura," Tatiana whispered, "darling, forget what should have been. Remember all that was." "Tatiasha, babe," Alexander whispered, coming back to bed to be covered, "my one and only wife, forget our age, our splendid youth, forget it all and let our crazy love make us young.

Dulce amor de juventud, perdona si te olvido...»