Quotes About Memories

One of my clients, while working through his childhood abuse at the hands of "barrio" gang members, said it this way: "I don't have to justify my experience with memories any more.

My brother Jim and I spent many wonderful summers working on dairy farms in Wisconsin owned by Mom's cousins, and as members of our local Boy Scout troop.

I cannot, in my old age, live off pieces of my youth.

always been. Just you an' me." "I saw my wife last night. In here." Hawk was talking to the floor, mostly trying to work it out in his own mind. "I saw my son... I saw Jubal... in his room across the hall." "Oh, that's why you went outside. I was wondering. You came back in smiling like I never saw you smile before

The life of a play begins and ends in the moment of performance. This is where author, actors and directors express all they have to say. If the event has a future, this can only lie in the memories of those who were present and who retained a trace in their hearts. This is the only place for our Dream. No form nor interpretation is for ever. A form has to become fixed for a short time, then it has to go. As the world changes, there will and must be new and totally unpredictable Dreams.

When we came and rented the North Perth home, my father had a little ice chest, and on top of the ice chest was a radio. And we were sitting at our lunch time on Sunday eating dinner after church, and my Mum says, 'Look where we've ended up. We've got a table cloth on our table, we've got food on our plate, and we're listening to music.' That was a big thing for my mother. - Mrs Helen Doropoulos, Greece

We gravitate to the narratives that best explain our emotions. In this way, narrative and memory become one. The memories we organize meaningfully become those that are better remembered. Narrative provides not only meaning but also a mental framework for imbuing future experiences and information with meaning, in effect shaping new memories to fit our established constructs of the world and ourselves.

They had fallen into that instant, easy friendship which feels as though it had begun before any of your memories and will last until you are so old that the humped veins on the back of your hands show dark blue-purple through your wax-white skin.

Memories do not hurt, they only influence.

He didn't rate a wave this time; she simply stood watching him drive off, looking small and sad. He folded the rear-view mirror's image up and tucked it away in a corner of his mind. The last thing he needed now was any more guilt rattling round inside his skull.

To forgotten youth," Patricia said, and raised her glass. "May we always be reminded by envying those who have it.

Don't ask what causes my problems, don't probe my memories or thoughts or feelings; there is nothing to know, the answer lies in my genes. There was no room for human mystery! This inability to envision psychological and psychosocial causation is both at the root of the psychological problems these individuals brought into the consulting-room and at the core of the naive nativist perspective.

If you don't believe in ghosts, why you wake up from nightmares screaming out the names of your dead friends?

His portrait of a married couple — brazen male incompetence on one side, camera-shy female wisdom on the other — must have evoked in many men clusters of mental images, or vague memories, recalling the first and shaping love affair of their lives, with their mother. What Barrie thought every woman knew was something that most men knew, in their troubled unconscious.

G: Never fear. 10 yrs from now, when you're looking at this picture, I'm going to be looking at it with you. I love you, G.

Most young people haven't used their storytelling skills since they were 8 or 9 or 10 and wanted to persuade Mom and Dad to take them to the ball game.

Nothing corrupts like happiness. It makes us think that since we share this moment, we can also share the past.

The bad thing about death is not that it changes the future. It's that it leaves us alone with our memories.

Deep within every blind, absolute love grows a hatred toward the beloved, who now holds the only existing key to happiness. I was, as I said, only three years old, but I remember how he left. He

How we gentle our losses into paler ghosts.

I always gave her a book. An old hardback from the same section in the used bookstore where you'd find Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, and musty scrawled-in Hobbits, the painted paper covers often ripped or gone... My favorite was a sort of illustrated guidebook of pond creatures on which a very young child had written in pencil on each page under the picture of an otter I love otter Under a muskrat: I love muskrat Beaver: I love beaver

Distantly recall. Standing there with a smile of triumph and his scruffy week old beard. I swear. I start to laugh. That's what he does to me: aggravate me all the way to the point of laughter.

He would have given his own life gladly to hear her sing to him one more time.

My favorite poem, the one by Li Shang-Yin: When Will I Be Home? When will I be home? I don't know. In the mountains, in the rainy night, The Autumn lake is flooded. Someday we will be back together again. We will sit in the candlelight by the West window. And I will tell you how I remembered you Tonight on the stormy mountain.