Quotes About Memories

I shall not walk your ways again.

This is what remains. Magical objects with the magic gone out of them. A few cassettes and no tape machine on which they can be played.

It was a task more than a burden. Once you have actually carried a dead man you are happy enough to leave him down, let them put the box into the damn ground.

Books wrote our life story, and as they accumulated on our shelves (and on our windowsills, and underneath our sofa, and on top of our refrigerator), they became chapters in it themselves.

Yesterday, when we were packing, Julius asked me, "If you could rub Tulip out of your past life, would you do it?" And I had to shake my head. I can't regret the times we had together. Sometimes I worry I won't have times like that again, that there will be no lit nights, no incandescent days. But I know it's not true. There can be colour in a million ways. I know I'll find it on my own.

Memories mean more to me than dresses.

school smells exactly alike, a combination of

These symptoms could be alleviated best, he learned, by encouraging soldiers to confront the frightening memories and make some kind of peace with them.

Joy passed, but happiness never completely disappeared; a touch of it would always remain to remind one it had been there. It was happiness that made one smile, then.

You will lose someone you can't live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

Below birds crossing the lake of the sky and purple martins on power lines, down to the trees and one thing my brother said that stays with me from Long Island to Vermont, something about trees being conductors of spirit ...

Home is where the heart is.

We all try to forget what hurts us, it is sometimes the only way we can continue.

but old wounds don't stop aching. They are always under the surface, ready to remind one of the original injuries.

It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow, there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I'd envision his face.

I felt tears sting into my eyes, and took a deep swallow of the first champagne I had ever tasted, remembering that I had read somewhere that the monk who invented it said, on first tasting it, 'It is like drinking stars'.

I'll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.

Take your foot out of the graveyard, they are busy being dead.

Now he is gone as you are gone. But he belongs to me like lost baggage.

She could have taken root. She wanted to be a Rose, somebody's Rose, their Rose—and she would have been company for the flowers. She had new memories to give them, new people to tell them of, people who would help tend to them and keep them. But they warned her. They saved her. Hazel was nobody's Rose. For better or for worse.

Want als je geen toekomst meer hebt, wat blijft er anders over dan dromen van het verleden.

Leone, P., M. Poshka, and V. E. Norton Jr. Around Chautauqua Lake: 50 Years of Photographs 1875–1925. Westfield, NY: Chautauqua Region Press, 1997.

For if you no longer have a future, what else is there left but dreams of the past?

If you no longer had a future, what else is there left but dreams of the past?