Quotes About Memories

Every heart is made of stories.

They leave things behind sometimes, the guests. A bottle of scent. A crumpled handkerchief. A pearl button that fell off a dress and rolled under a bed. And sometimes they leave other sorts of things. Things you can't see. A sigh trapped in a corner. Memories tangled in the curtains. A sob fluttering against the windowpane like a bird that flew in and can't get back out. I can feel these things. They dart and crouch and whisper.

I need a name for this ink ... A name for the feeling you get when you see someone again. After many years. Someone lost to you. Or so you thought. And you remember them a certain way. In your mind, they never age. But then suddenly, there they are. Older. Changed by time. Different, but exactly the same.

I look around myself wildly, my heart bursting with grief and fear and joy. I am leaving, but I will take this place and its stories with me wherever I go.

She never forgot the day she'd met him, or how his friends had told her to be more than pretty. She never forgot Elizabeth, Yennenga, Abhaya Rani. She wore his gold coin on a chain around her neck until the day she died. But the thing she treasured most was the memory of his smile, a smaile that was a wink and a dare. A wild road on a windy night. A kiss int he dark. A smile that had given her all she'd ever wanted-a chance. A chance to be herself.

It was a trick. It was this place, all the memories. His longing heart and the darkness conspiring. But his eyes told him it was no trick. He jumped down off the steps and walked toward her. Hoping. Fearing. He'd done this before. So many times. Caught sight of a slender black-haired woman and impulsively called to her, only to have her turn and gaze at him with eyes that were questioning, coldly polite, and never, ever hers.

If you're going to bury the past, bury it deep, girl. Shallow Graves always give up their dead.

She smells of her cooking and the perfume Eau d'Hadrien. My mother wore it, too. She used to cook, like Lili. Our house smelled of garlic and thyme instead of sadness.

Home's all the people, all the places, and all the things that you love. You carry it wherever you go.

am the huntsman. Dead now, but that's no matter. The dead speak. With tongues blackened by time and regret. You can hear us if you listen.

Home is all the people, all the places, and all the things that you love

From the moment he held her, and looked into her eyes, he was a changed man. He'd held that tiny girl in his arms that moment; he would hold her in his heart forever.

I hardly recognize you. Where's the gown and the jewellery, little sister? Where are the conch you always carried around? Where's your hair?' Desiderio asked. 'Gone, Des. It's gone. Everything's gone. Cerulea. The palace. Mum and Dad-' Her voice broke.

He touched the tip of one leg to the place over Belle's heart. "It's here, foolish girl," he said. "Home is all the people, all the places, and all the things that you love. You carry it wherever you go. Don't you know that?

Lori, did you and Adam have a fight? I mean, another fight? A humdinger?" I snorted. "No, I'm sobbing in Frances's lap because she will marry our father someday and bring back the vegi/soy mayonnaise." "What's the matter with vegi/soy mayonnaise?" Frances asked. McGillicuddy wrinkled his nose at the memory.

Oh we'll know each other forever, Bix says. The days of losing touch are almost gone.

Suddenly I'm scared. That the solar panels were a time machine. That I'm a grown-up woman coming back to this place after many years. That my parents are gone, and our house isn't ours anymore. It's a broken down ruin with no one in it. Living here all together was so sweet. Even when we fought. It felt like it would never end. I'll always miss it.

What I'm Afraid Of: [...] That I'm a grown-up woman coming back to this place after many years. That my parents are gone, and our house isn't ours anymore. It's a broken-down ruin with no one in it. Living here all together was so sweet. Even when we fought. It felt like it would never end. I'll always miss it.

Only his folks altered with the years, their hair going silver, Robert Sr., a high school football coach , ultimately on oxygen for emphysema, both of them seeming to shrink on the couch cushions in a way that made the crystal and porcelain artifacts look bigger each year.

When I'm thirty-four, tonight will be a million years ago, I think–the St. Francis Hotel and the rainy palm tree sounds, Silas with the bandage on his head–and this makes me see how everything now is precious, how someday I'll know I was lucky to be here.

Nostalgia was the end—everyone knew that.

After my parents died, it took me months before I could carry on a conversation with someone who had not known them, who expected me to be young and sparkling and untouched by grief.

Coming home in the almost dark made him feel grown up--a taste of grown-up life. Looking back, that seemed like one of the best parts of being a kid.

Her mother glanced at her. "I don't think about him, Anna. That's the truth." "What do you think about?" A spot of red had appeared on each of her mother's cheeks. She was angry. Anna was, too, and the anger strengthened her, as if she were bracing herself against it. "You know perfectly well what I think about," her mother said.