Quotes About Memories

for there is nothing more desolate in all the abodes of men than an unfurnished house dimly lit, silent, and forsaken, and yet tenanted by rumour with the memories of evil and violent histories.

For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows, and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remembered is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Socialize with people in such a manner that when you die, they should weep for you, and as long as you live, they should long for your company.

Imagine if people decided at birth never ever to throw away any of the shoes they wore over the whole course of a life, and had a special cupboard where they kept all these old shoes they'd walked about the world in. What would there be in such a shoe museum, when you opened its doors? Row upon row, perfectly preserved, the exact shapes we took at certain points in our lives? Or row upon row, rack upon rack, of nothing but old soiled leather, old stale smell?

You can't put a pin through a summer.

Regrets when you're dead? A past when you're dead? Is there never any escaping the junkshop of the self?

Who wants to live with one foot in hell just for the sake of nostalgia? Our time is forever now!

One will never remember A greater thing when one dies Than sunlight falling aslant long rows of corn, Or rainy days heavy with grey sullen skies.

When your heart would ache to hear Other men's tongues repeating Those same light phrases that jest and jeer At a friend now grown so dear--so dear. Strange to remember long ago When a friend was almost a foe.

But there was a last time. An unforeseen and uncommemorated last time. I don't remember it. That, more than anything, describes aging to me—the letting go of one activity after the next, with no fanfare. Just realizing later that the last time has come and gone,

But there was a last time. An unforeseen and uncommemorated last time. I don't remember it. That, more than anything, describes aging to me—the letting go of one activity after the next, with no fanfare. Just realizing later that the last time has come and gone," Agnes said.

The days beaded a smooth chain of fine feeling.

There was nothing to replace an old friend who knew everything, who'd spent enough time in the childhood home to know the atmosphere and how emotions and silences transpired—to know how the other had really grown up.

There was nothing to replace an old friend who knew everything, who'd spent enough time in the childhood home to know the atmosphere and how emotions and silences transpired—to know how the other had really grown up. Polly felt the power of this truth as she sat in this room that she knew before she had language, with this person with whom she was a friend before friendship even began.

No one knows you like a person with whom you've shared a childhood. No one will ever understand you in quite the same way.

Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened. And if you can't do that, force a smile on your face and sob into your pillow later.

It was not the future they'd been objecting to, but the loss of the past. As if it was his fault that you could now have one without the other

It was as if he stopped time for them two weeks out of every year, cut them off from both the past and the future so that they had only this present in a brand-new place, this present in which her children sought the sight and the scent of her: a wonderful thing, when you noticed it. When the past and the future grew still enough to let you notice it. He did that for her. This man she'd married.

Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.

Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.

where we once sat lamenting.

If you kill me in war, you kill a unique person with memories that light up inside me in fiery messages from my past, my electric past.

rewinding and grieving rewinding and grieving

Sometimes you cry, Susie, even when someone you love has been gone a long time.