Quotes About Memories

I have to remember it... or Genma-sama'll come to hate me...and then he'll abandon me... What can I do, to become the "Himi" that you want...? What do I have to do to bring back my memories? There's nothing. In my heart, there's nothing...

For everything sacred has the substance of dreams and memories, and so we experience the miracle of what is separated from us by time or distance suddenly being made tangible.

It's odd how one's memories of youth turn out so bleak. Why does the business of growing up—one's recollections of growth itself—have to be so tragic? I still haven't found the answer. I doubt if anybody has. When I finally reach that stage at which the placid wisdom of old age... occasionally descends on a person, then I too may suddenly discover that I understand. But I doubt whether, by that time, understanding will have much point.

They avoided talk of the old days, like a pair weaving in and out among puddles after a rainstorm, so deftly that neither of them found the process awkward.

La infancia es un periodo en el que el tiempo y el espacio se mezclan.

J'aimerais revivre une fois encore la terrifiante affirmation que j'ai connue à la mort de mon mari. Ce serait sûrement le bonheur.

go-go hall on my way home from school.

It was a bright, quiet garden, without striking features. Like a rosary rubbed between the hands, the shrilling of cicadas held sway. There was no other sound. The garden was empty. He had come, thought Honda, to a place that had no memories, nothing. The noontide sun of summer flowed over the still garden.

In the loneliness of ????, one thinks longingly of ????. Memories of ???? threw an even sharper ???? across their lives. And yet the memories had come to seem like something out of a storybook. There was no avoiding the ???? that, around the ???? ?????, everything took on an ?????? of fiction.

There was no other sound. The garden was empty. He had come, thought Honda, to a place with no memories, nothing. The noontide sun of summer flowered over the still garden.

Dreams, memories, the sacred—they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desting, tear d touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.

Hay ciertas ocasiones en las que los seres humanos creen que pueden conseguirlo todo. En estos momentos, cuando todo su ser está empapado de esta creencia, ven muchas cosas que normalmente son invisibles para los ojos humanos. Luego, pasado un tiempo, incluso después de haber descendido hasta el fondo del pozo de la memoria, estos momentos reviven unos instantes y de nuevo les recuerdan a los hombres la milagrosa plenitud de las penas y las alegrías del mundo.

Dreams, memories, the sacred--they are all alike in that they are beyond our grasp. Once we are even marginally separated from what we can touch, the object is sanctified; it acquires the beauty of the unattainable, the quality of the miraculous. Everything, really, has this quality of sacredness, but we can desecrate it at a touch. How strange man is! His touch defiles and yet he contains the source of miracles.

She sat like that for a long time, never taking her eyes off her grandmother, conjuring up cherished memories of their time together, each remembrance more precious than the last. Time seemed to evaporate in the haze of candlelight, reminiscences, and tears. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there, but she had just gotten out of her chair and reached for another tissue when she thought she heard a noise.

I was influenced when I was younger by the cartoon movies that Disney put out, like Cinderella and what not. I watched those movies over and over when I was younger and the music is ingrained into my head. Nowadays, I'm still humming the tunes. It taught me the fundamentals.

I had a very funny family.

Sunt înc?rcat cu amintiri ca un m?r, în toamn?. Scutura?i pomul ?i, dac? nu cad destule fructe, da?i cu pietre în el, sau, ?i mai bine, lovi?i-i fiecare creang? cu pr?jina. Pentru mine, amintirile sunt o grea povar?. Iau de pe inima mea o parte din aceast? povar? cu fiecare carte pe care o scriu.

To?i iubim. To?i purt?m în inimile noastre florile iubirii ?i, mai pe urm?, dup? ce iubirile au murit, în acelea?i inimi purt?m cenu?a iubirilor... Cenu?a rece a iubirilor moarte...

My mother's blueberry pie from scratch was amazing. I still make it today.

My dear, I think of you always and at night I build myself a warm nest of things I remember and float in your sweetness till morning.

memories should be sharp when one has nothing else to live for

You can gain an unexpected amount of happiness from rediscovering normal, everyday experiences from your past.

Thinking these things made space and time around her, the way saying 'only June' had when she was a child hoarding summer.

You know, Marco, they can leave us, they can grow old, but it's like they're still here, running around our feet, just like when they were little tykes.