Quotes About Memories

He'd been unhappy, restless, irritable since leaving Surrey. He'd lived on memories of her. Her absence slowly strangled him. The instant he took Antonia in his arms, he breathed again.

He should laugh, tease, treat her lightly, keep her guessing. But instead his words rang with unstrategic truth. "I remember everything you've ever said to me.

And I'd started thinking about my mother's last weeks--the way she'd drifted listlessly about the house in her dressing gown, cigarettes in one hand, glass of something strong-smelling in the other.

At the end of our lives it is our loves we remember most, because they are what shaped us. We have grown to be who we are around them, as around a stake.

Toutes ces bêtises, tous ces remords, et nos bulles de savon à l'enterrement du parrain de Lola... (L'échappée belle, p.37)

Je peux pas faire reset. Je ne peux pas. Mon enfance, c'est un poison que j'ai dans le sang et y a que quand je serai morte que j'en souffrirai plus. Mon enfance, c'est moi, et comme mon enfance ne vaut rien, moi, derrière, j'ai beau essayer de la contrecarrer de toutes mes forces, je ne fais jamais le poids.

P?d?jo reizi, kad apsk?v?mies, es vi?u nosk?pst?ju. Tas bija Flandrijas ielas lift?. Vi?š ??v?s. K?d??? K?d?? vi?š ??va sevi sk?pst?t sievietei, kuru vairs nem?l?ja? K?d?? d?v?t man savas l?pas? Un rokas?

Vi?ai nekas nepieder?ja. Tikai atmi?as. Tikai draugi.

A Path in the Woods from a New Name" I don't trust the truth of memories because what leaves us departs forever There's only one current of this sacred river but I still want to remain faithful to my first astonishments to recognize as wisdom the child's wonder and to carry in myself until the end a path in the woods of my childhood dappled with patches of sunlight

Life! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;- Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-morning!

Here is one of the worst things about having someone you love die: It happens again every single morning.

Your children make it impossible to regret your past. They're its finest fruits. Sometimes the only ones.

What magic was this, brewed from equal parts of age-old memories and total oblivion. One could have believed that the last war these people had fought had left only happy memories, had carried in its wake nothing but joy and prosperity. Women and girls were smiling as if their sons and lovers were invulnerable.

When I was still a living man in the life that I lived, I met a young fellow. His name was George. I latched on to him. We shared our pain and joy. He was much younger than I was. I valued everything about young George. In that young man I found again everything I prized in life. Now he has as little to do with me as a living man does with a dead one. May he think of me from time to time, if he has the time for it. I know that the living are very busy.

The first place that I can well remember, was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master's house, which stood by the roadside;

She raised her glass and thought of what Frankie had said that first night she met him and fell for him. 'Not bad for a wee tart from the Gorbals.

That for the rest of her life she'd long to hold that hand one more time, and no matter how many other hands she held, she would never find one as warm and soft.

Well, it's hard to say how I am these days, and that's the truth. I guess I'm still numb from my mother's death. I still can't quite believe I'll never see her again. That's the hardest part, suddenly thinking I'll have to tell her something later, and then I remember she's not there.

Memories, light the corners of my mind, Misty water-coloured memories, of the way we were . . .' Indeed, Rosie thought

Her smile faded. "Do you know the worst thing about it? I forgot him. Daemon was a friend, and I forgot him. That Winsol, before I was…he gave me a silver bracelet. I don't know what happened to it. I had a picture of him. I don't know what happened to that either. And then he gave everything he had to help me, and when it was done, everyone walked away from him as if he didn't matter.

Friends were valued. Family—pack—was valued. And the loss of a member wasn't forgotten.

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

There are regular towns and irregular towns, there are wounded towns and sober towns and fiercely remembered towns, there are useless, but passionate towns that battle on, there are towns where the snow slides from the roofs of the houses with such force that victims are killed, but there are not empty towns (just empty scholars) and there is no regret. Now move along.

HE WAS FOURTEEN it was years ago and Sad's name wasn't Sad yet. First comet. G had just stumbled off a bus they looked at one another and that lasted until G was almost twenty but he. Well. Being a loyal soul himself. Sad's need to make friends everywhere. Sex friends club friends gym friends dope friends shopping friends breakdown friends a common enough problem. Sad didn't see a problem. One day he looked around and G was gone.