Quotes About Memories

But I think I know so well the pain we children clutch to our chests, how it lasts our whole lifetime, with longings so large you can't even weep. We hold it tight, we do, with each seizure of the beating heart: This is mine, this is mine, this is mine.

This must be the way most of us maneuver through the world, half knowing, half not, visited by memories that can't possibly be true.

the place I was bound for on my latest pilgrimage was filled with living, first-hand memories of all the enchanted years that lie between two and eighteen. How enchanted those years are is made more and more clear to me the older I grow. There has been nothing in the least like them since; and though I have forgotten most of what happened six months ago, every incident, almost every day of those wonderful long years is perfectly distinct in my memory.

For years she had been able to be happy only by forgetting happiness.

That was a strange thing, the death of Coco. Not that he should die, for owing to the unexpected folly of the concierge it was inevitable that he should, but his manner of doing it. Even at this distance of time, the remembrance agonises me. There

How regretfully did I think at that moment of the petticoats of my youth, so short, so silent, and so woollen! And how convenient the canvas shoes were with the india rubber soles, for creeping about without making a sound! Thanks to them I could always run swiftly and unheard into my hiding-places, and stay there listening to the garden resounding with cries of Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Come in at once to your lessons!

A good thing this was, and that we should be so care-free and irresponsible, enjoying every minute of every day; for it was the Easter of 1914, the last Easter of the old, easy world, and our last, as well as our first, Easter as children together in the little house I had built for happiness.

But a part of me lies buried in lace and roses on a riverbank in France-a part of me is broken off forever. A part of me will be unflyable, stuck in the climb.

If the people who said they loved you abused or neglected you, it can feel terrifying to love again…Commitment or love with a family feeling can be scarier still. The child in you still equates commitment with being locked into a situation where there's no escape. So as you get closer, you may become paralyzed by all your old defenses & memories.

These are hard memories, and I will save the rest of the story for another time.

It is my last night here, and I suddenly feel quite tearful, sitting up in my usual window.

I can write about images from my own childhood for children today. I wasn't sure I could do this, but there was no way out; I had to use the images from my own childhood, because the child I was is the only child I really know.

Exhale too fast and you'd blow them over and with them their memories would spill out onto the very European ground their families now fertilised.

He goes back to his childhood, as old men do.

The old man's dying was painless and feather-light, all the substance of his once sharp and vigorous mind gone on before; but it was slow. The fading candle flame did not flicker, only dimmed in perfect stillness second by second, so mysteriously that they missed the moment when the last spark withdrew, and only knew he was gone when they began to realise that the prints of age were smoothing themselves out gently from his face.

At the thought of losing Grus, a puppy born a year before on the Endurance, Macklin reflected:

They thought of home, naturally, but there was no burning desire to be in civilization for its own sake. Worsley recorded: "Waking on a fine morning I feel a great longing for the smell of dewy wet grass and flowers of a Spring morning in New Zealand or England. One has very few other longings for civilization—good bread and butter, Munich beer, Coromandel rock oysters, apple pie and Devonshire cream are pleasant reminiscences rather than longings.

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.

But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.

Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.

If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk in my garden forever.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,Tears from the depth of some divine despairRise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,In looking on the happy autumn fields,And thinking of the days that are no more.

Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

Es curioso, normalmente el tiempo recorta el tamaño de los recuerdos y los hace menos impresionantes en su alegría o en su tristeza".