Quotes About Memories

I'm now old enough to personally identify every object in antique stores.

Judy Blume: Some books you never forget. Some characters become your friends for life.

Lynda Johnson Robb: Children's books tie together the stages of life. You read them when you are eight or ten or twelve, and then they stay with you. I still have many books that I loved as a child and have kept; I read books to my own children; and now we will share books with my grandchildren. ...Children's books stabilize me, they are my roots; they help me in times of stress. They help me connect to happy memories, to those I love, to the generations in my family. They provide comfort.

Jack Pikulski: I learned... ...that children's books not only inform and entertain, but they make lasting impressions and add richness to our lives and the lives of those we love. While I am definitely into my mature years, I still read children's books; I always will.

and Willie Nelson was singing "On the Road Again" on the jukebox. An infelicitous selection, if you ask me.

I find it difficult to sleep. A sort of daydream, perhaps, reliving old times, trying to capture something of her, while there's still a flavour of her in the house. It's real, you know. A perfume. The shampoo she used, I think. Something else I can't pin down. I know it won't last for long.

Perhaps that was why she drove so fast, because she didn't want the girl to have the same sort of memories of childhood that she'd been left with: the fear in the pit of the stomach and the longing to be home in a familiar place.

Then they all jumped in again, sharing memories, telling the same old stories, because if they were talking about the past, somehow they didn't have to think too much about the present.

It was sudden thoughts about the things Maggie would have liked or pieces of gossip that he'd like to pass on that made grief come back and bite him on the bum.

Ah pet, I've been wandering down memory lane. Not always a comfortable place to be.

He thought a lot about the old days. The memories clouded his thoughts and confused him.

Those old westerns are the movies I grew up with on Saturday afternoons at the theater.

My parents used to do these little film festivals in our house where we'd watch all the Marx Brothers movies, or Chaplin movies, and a lot of westerns.

I was raised on Westerns. They were part of what going into the movies was.

My dad Alan loved Westerns and we watched them together when there wasn't much else on TV. I had toy cowboys I'd call Richard Widmark or Gregory Peck and we'd restage the Battle of the Alamo.

The first thing that pops into my mind when it comes to playing cowboys is my father, Lloyd Bridges. When I was a little kid, I loved to dress up like a cowboy - put on the boots, hat, and walk around. He was in a lot of westerns, and my dad loved to ride.

The first Westerns I saw as a child were those little 8-mm. home movies put out by Castle Films.

My grandmothers are full of memories, smelling of soap and onions and wet clay, with veins rolling roughly over quick hands, they have many clean words to say, my grandmothers were strong.

When we played Real Madrid and won 5-3 it was soaking wet and the ball ended up weighing a kilo. It didn't have a brand. Consider the boots; there was no personalised footwear. Back then we made money, but we played for the love, it was all heart.

I had a huge interior world as a kid: I'd sit on endless wet holidays in Cornwall playing with paper dolls.

My most visceral childhood memory is getting home from hockey. Much of our family time revolved around hockey, and it rains a lot in Perth, and we'd get home tired and wet in our tracksuits, and the smell I'd hold in my nose is of mother's vegetable soup.

You know the thing I liked about fishing when I was 14 was being out with your mates mucking about, throwing bread around, getting a bit wet maybe.

I actually think the last time I stood with a race medal around my neck was after an eighth grade cross-country meet. I was gawky and 65 pounds soaking wet, and running 10 miles a day was no big deal.

At Easter the family got together and we were giving one of my uncles a hard time about watching scary films because on the boat leaving Vietnam, when we were attacked by pirates, he wet his pants.