Quotes About Memories

Que se muera el olvido, que se escondan las llaves de los juzgados, que se acuerde Cupido de los maridos abandonados. Cuando llegue por fin mi mensaje a tus manos, en la gasolinera vieja esperaré; y tomaremos juntos al abordaje la carretera que te conté.

Si quieres olvidarme date prisa, no me consuela tu amistad, tu duda...

I don't know when Tiger Lily stopped growing older; I can't pinpoint that moment. But I do know I never saw her visibly age beyond the days when she was with Peter. I like to think her growing stopped the day they were on the plateau, watching the horses.

She thought of all the things she'd forgotten to be scared of.

I've made a discovery, and it's that grief isn't like sadness at all. Sadness is only something that's part of you. Grief becomes you, it wraps you up and changes you and makes everything--every little thing--different than it was before. I remember the me before we got the telegram saying he was gone, but it's like I'm remembering someone else. It feels like an earthquake has gone through me...

It is just that she was fifteen once for the first time, and Peter walked across her heart, and left his footprints there.

I'm not a stranger to your love of lost causes, dear one. But you have to be careful who you meet," he said, stoking a pipe thoughtfully. "You can't unmeet them." He

Here's a thing or two I've learned about memories. They are like seeds; love can grow from them. They look different depending on the day when they are remembered. They are slippery, malleable things, apt to be altered. They can be clutched too tightly. Their absence can cause fractures that run deep between people, towns, whole countries. They are meant sometimes, to be let go.

If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?

What was the point of being able to forgive, when deep down, you both had to admit you'd never forget?

If you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? Did you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled?

Every now and then, though, it feels like we're trying to rekindle our neglected friendships with an old ritual that's lost its sparkle.

It is not how you die, but how you lived, that counts.

When he'd made it thirty strides or so Logen turned around and looked back. The pot was sitting forlorn by the lake, already filling up with rainwater. They'd been through a lot together, him and that pot. "Fare you well, old friend." The pot did not reply.

The memories of our glories fade, and rot away into half-arsed anecdotes, thin and unconvincing as some other bastard's lies. The failures, the disappointments, the regrets, they stay raw as the moments they happened.

Funny how a person hung on to things that weren't of no use at all but then those were the things that pierced the soul when a body lost them.

Home was more than a house. It was a place in a person's heart.

I thought of how she'd been at three, at six, at nine. No one warns you about the losses. No one tells you you'll miss them, those earlier children. They disappear, but are they still there, sealed one inside the next like those little wooden Russian dolls?

Time passes and I am still not through it. Grief isn't something you get over. You live with it. You go on on with it lodged in you. Sometimes I feel like I have swallowed a pile of stones. Grief makes me heavy. It makes me slow. Even on days when I laugh a lot, or dance, or finish a project, or meet a deadline, or celebrate, or make love, it is there. Lodged deep inside of me.

There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.

Memories are fragile things to hold, but many times, it's what we have.

Perhaps someday we could all make it back to the places where we started. I didn't believe it, but I tried to.

I wonder how you say goodbye to someone forever?

I want her back" I said "I want HIM back"~Charlie