Quotes About Memories

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;Ae farewell and then forever!

Green grow the rashes, O;Green grow the rashes, O;The sweetest hours that e'er I spendAre spent among the lasses, O.

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon,How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?How can ye chant, ye little birds,And I sae weary fu' o' care!Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,That wantons thro' the flowering thorn!Thou minds me o' departed joys,Departed never to return.

For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yetFor auld lang syne!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; Ae fareweel, alas, forever!

The Hypotheticals took you and they remembered you and eventually they re-created you, and that means the real Turk Findley is as dead and long-gone as the real Allison Pearl. You're a convincing replica, but you were born in a desert with another man's memories—you're no more responsible for that man's sins than I am for Allison's.

History was a patchwork of voids. The great university libraries and public archives had mostly rotted away or been used as fuel in the Dark Age. An entire generation's correspondence and memories had vanished into this mysterious entity the antiquarians called 'The Cloud'.

1979, with Andy Martin, one of my old friends from Footlights, acting as my best man. For our honeymoon, we borrowed Ruth's parents' cottage near Hay-on-Wye. After two blissful weeks, we returned to London, ready for the very different political fray following the election of Margaret Thatcher. That was the only substantial reference to her. I slowly worked my way through the

Traveling through Fog Looking back, we cannot see, except for its blurring lights like underwater stars and moons, our starting-place. Behind us, beyond us now is phantom territory, a world abstract as memories of earth the traveling dead take home. Between obscuring cloud and cloud, the cloudy dark ensphering us seems all we can be certain of. Is Plato's cave.

at the end of the day people won't remember what you said or did, they will remember how you made them feel.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the great mountainous island of Tremalking. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

The wheel of time turns and ages come and go, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age tha gave it birth returns again. In the third age, an age of prophecy the world and time themselves hang in the balance. What was, what will be, and what is, may yet fall under shadow.

Mashiara. Beloved of heart and soul, it meant, but a love lost, too. Lost beyond regaining.

Women were glad when he came into their lives. It was not boasting. Women smiled for him; even when he left them, they smiled as if they would welcome him back. That was all he ever really wanted from women; a smile, a dance, a kiss, and to be remembered foundly.

The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of time. But it was a beginning.

Weep for Manetheren. Weep for what is lost forever.

She grimaced, remembering one incarnation when she and he had been forced to grow old together, peacefully. Most boring life she'd ever known, though at the time—ignorant of her grander part in the Pattern—she'd been happy with it.

Better ten days of love than years of regretting

Not a tree of it left. I've been to Tear and Illian, too. Different names, and no memories. There's only pasture for their horses where the grove was at Tear, and at Illian the grove is the King's park, where he hunts his deer, and none allowed inside without his permission. It has all changed, Rand. I fear very much that I will find the same everywhere I go. All the groves gone, all the memories gone, all the dreams dead.

It should, Daigian said. Eben is dead. Would you want to forget your pain if you lost that hulking giant of yours? Have your feelings for him cutaway like some spoiled chunk of flesh in an otherwise good roast? Nynaeve opened her mouth but stopped. Would she? It wasn't that simple—her feelings for Lan were genuine, and not due to a bond. He was her husband, and she loved him.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning. Eastward

Perhaps I also dwell too much on what is gone. And yet, the groves were beautiful.

You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones. Remember this, on this journey you insist on making. If you die, I will not survive you long." He gave Nynaeve one of his rare smiles.

I was married to Erma for almost forty years, you can't be jealous of my memories