Quotes About Memories

Eigentlich konnte ich ganz zufrieden sein. Es ging mir nicht schlecht, ich hatte Arbeit, ich wurde nicht leicht müde, ich war heil, wie man das so nennt - aber es war doch besser, nicht allzuviel darüber nachzudenken. Besonders nicht, wenn man allein war. Und abends auch nicht. Da kam ab und zu noch einmal etwas von früher ud starrte einen aus toten Augen an. Aber früher hatte man den Schnaps.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

Two years of rifle fire and hand grenades - you can't just take it all off like a pair of socks afterwards -

I implore them with my eyes: Speak to me—take me up—take me, Life of my Youth—you who are care-free, beautiful—receive me again— I wait, I wait. Images float through my mind, but they do not grip me, they are mere shadows and memories. Nothing—nothing—

We stand and gaze. The farmhouse, the remnants of the wood, the heights, the trenches on the sky yonder, — it had been a terrible world and life a burden. Now it is over and will stay behind here; when we set out, it will drop behind us, step by step, and in an hour be gone as if it had never been. — Who can realize it?

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, dass die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer - eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren - aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

For a moment I held her hand in mine and felt her warm, dry pressure. Then I went out to get the rum. The night stood big and silent about the little house. The leather seats of our car were moist. I stood and looked toward the horizon where the red glow of the city rose against the sky. I would gladly have stayed out there; but already I could hear Lenz calling.

Wunderbar war das beim Trinken - es brachte einen rasch zusammen-, aber zwischenn Abend und Morgen schaffte es auch wieder Zwischenräume, als wären es Jahre.

Te jeseni 1939. život je ?oveku bio nanovo poklonjen - re?e Švarc. - ?ak su i kestenovi te jeseni ponovo procvetali, po drugi put, u Parizu - se?ate li se?

I am conscious of the nameless sadness of Time that runs and runs on and changes, and when a man returns he shall find nothing again. —Yes, it is a hard thing to part; but to come back again, that is sometimes far harder.

To-day we would pass through the scenes of our youth like travelers. We are burnt up by hard facts; like tradesmen we understand distinctions, and like butchers, necessities. We are no longer untroubled- we are indifferent. We might exist there; but should we really live there?

Ah! Mother, Mother! You still think I am a child - why can I not put my head in your lap and weep? Why have I always to be strong and self-controlled? I would like to weep and be comforted too, indeed I am little more than a child; in the wardrobe still hang short, boy's trousers - it is such a little time ago, why is it over?

man bija t?da saj?ta, it k? maz? telpa paceltos un ar mums aizlidotu cauri naktij un gadiem, gar?m daudz?m atmi??m. T? bija sav?da noska?a. Laiks lik?s apst?jies; tas vairs nebija k? straume, kas n?ca no tumsas un iepl?da tums?, - tas bija ezers, kur? klusi atspogu?oj?s dz?ve.

I'm still in shape. I jog along the Charles each evening. If I go five miles, I get to glimpse the lights of Harvard just across the river. And see all the places I had walked when I was happy. I run back in the darkness, reminiscing just to pass the time. Sometimes I ask myself what I would be if Jenny were alive. And I answer: I would be alive.

Mowrer and his family made it safely to Tokyo. His wife, Lillian, recalled her great sorrow at having to leave Berlin. "Nowhere have I had such lovely friends as in Germany," she wrote. "Looking back on it all is like seeing someone you love go mad—and do horrible things.

It was the loss of the books that she grieved above all. . . One keeps remembering some odd little book that one had; one can't list them all, and it is best to forget them now that they are ashes.

Nowhere have I had such lovely friends as in Germany," she wrote. "Looking back on it all is like seeing someone you love go mad—and do horrible things.

As a child, my number one best friend was the librarian in my grade school. I actually believed all those books belonged to her.

I come from a home where gravy is a beverage.

Thanks to my mother, not a single cardboard box has found its way back into society. We receive gifts in boxes from stores that went out of business twenty years ago.

Is not the clay pit of which you speak that in which you fashioned exceedingly unsymmetrical imitations of rat-pies in your childhood?

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

To be able to say: I loved this person, we had a hell of a nice time together, it's over but in a way it will never be over and I do know that I for sure loved this person, to be able to say that and mean it, that's rare, señor. That's rare and valuable." — Ernest Hemingway, from The Complete Short Stories 

I don't like to leave anything,' the man said. 'I don't like to leave things behind.