Quotes About Memories

D'you mind if we get going?' said Strike, checking his watch. 'I told Elin I'll be over tonight.' 'No problem,' said Robin. Yet for some reason—perhaps due to her headache, perhaps because of the lonely woman sitting in Summerfield among the memories of loved ones who had left her—Robin could easily have wept all over again.

he'd wanted to keep a channel of communication open between himself and Charlotte, because he wanted to know she couldn't forget him, any more than he could forget her. It was time to cut that last, thin thread.

She thought of the day that Matthew had asked her out for the very first time and remembered walking home from school, her insides on fire with excitement and pride. She remembered Sarah Shadlock giggling, leaning against him in a pub in Bath, and Matthew frowning slightly and pulling away. She thought of Strike and Elin . . . what have they got to do with anything?

Whenever I give a talk about my work I am invariably asked who my influences are. Not what my influences are, but who. As if the gutter, misunderstandings, memories, sex, dreams, and books matter less than forebears do. After all, in terms of influences, it is as much the guy who mugged me on 10th Street, or my beloved dog who passed away much too early, as it was Giotto or Diane Arbus.

Photographs don't discriminate between the living and the dead. In the fragments of time and shards of light that compose them, everyone is equal. Now you see us; now you don't. It doesn't matter whether you look through a camera lens and press the shutter. It doesn't even matter whether you open your eyes or close them. The pictures are always there. And so are the people in them.

Yes. Childhood is the most dangerous place of all. If we had to live there forever, we wouldn't last very long.

Children remember staying up late. Grownups think about getting up early

Here's another thing: There are certain wounds that never heal, certain hurts that never leave you alone, like a broken bone that heals wrong and always twinges when it's about to rain.

I'm not having much of a life. It's not awful, just ordinary. I am trying to accommodate the memories of the life I had with the life I am now living, and I just can't do it. After being behind the wheel of a Lamborghini going 140 down Sunset Drive at four a.m., it's hard to get up and put on a polyester shirt and sell books at Barnes and Noble. But I'm not ashamed of it.

But there was no use. There was no point. It was just a story. It was just a story of people, of Ralph and Emilia and Antonio and Catherine and the mothers and the fathers who had died, too soon or late, of people who had hurt one another as much as people can do, who had been selfish and not wise, and had become trapped inside the bitter walls of memories they wished they had never had. It

Why is it that, as we lose our loveliness, the sheen of youth, we lose possibility as well? We acquire, but more is vanished than is given, and nothing makes up for the loss of the swallows at the Sherry, or the Victoria diamond, or the nights at Area when your booted feet ground the glass phials of amyl nitrate into the dance floor.

I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful, than a lifetime of nothing special.

I just sat there. I just held Shelby's hand. There was no noise, no tremble, just peace. Oh god. I realize as a woman how lucky I am. I was there when that wonderful creature drifted into my life and I was there when she drifted out. It was the most precious moment of my life.

What to do with the past? There was so much of it.

David Jeremiah says, "We're grateful for our memories, but our dreams should be greater than our memories. Our best work is still to come.

He had a collection of science-fiction films on DVD and Blu-ray discs, and although he said he'd seen most of them before, Caitlin was surprised to discover how many of the cases were still shrink-wrapped. "Why'd you buy them if you weren't going to watch them?" she asked. He looked at the tall, thin cabinets that contained the movies and seemed to ponder the question. "My childhood was on sale," he said at last, "so I bought it.

As laser-bright moments; diamond-hard memories; crisp and clear. A future lived, a future savored, a future of moments so sharp and pointed that they would sometimes cut and sometimes glint so brightly it would hurt to contemplate them, but sometimes, too, would be joyous, an absolute, pure, unalloyed joy, the kind of joy he hadn't felt much if at all lo these twenty-one years.

plan to take Jill fishing on the lake you loved, Lake

Francesca was feeling good feelings, old feelings, poetry and music feelings.

Stari su snovi bili lijepi snovi; nisu se ispunili, ali sretan sam Å¡to sam ih imao.

Neke stvari traju, pomislila je. Hridi, rijeke, stari natkriveni mostovi. A neke stvari ne traju. Vrele kolovoške no?i i sve što sa sobom nose. Izmi?u nam, pa idemo dalje bez njih, naposljetku umremo i nema nam traga.

I just stand here, about twilight, makin' that ol' horn weep, and I play that tune for a man named Robert Kincaid and a woman he called Francesca.

The old dreams were good dreams; they didn't work out but I'm glad I had them.

One great love in a single lifetime was enough for anyone.