Quotes About Memories

For what other reason might we cling to objects, old photographs, tarnished jewelry, yellowed letters? They're charms, little pieces of magic. When we touch them, we regain for a second what time has stolen or worn away.

Houses are like people. They have memories, and energy. They wait. They wilt from neglect. They sicken and decay. They haunt, and they are haunted.

There was something eternal about loss, something endless. You could always lose the things you had, but you couldn't always get back the things you lost.

Honestly, I tried not to think about my sister much. Or my mother. I have been guilty of doing what it takes to bury most of my memories when it comes to that- from junk food to booze to drugs, there are few poisons with which I haven't experimented. I've found a million ways to keep the demons in a comfortable, quiet stupor, lazing around on my inner couches.

Houses are like people. They have memories, and energy. They wait. They wilt from neglect. They sicken and decay. They haunt, and they are haunted. This house was a too big, rambling old place, populated by restless ghosts and bad memories. It seemed to rise out of the trees as we grew closer.

A haunting is not what you think, Liz would tell their clients. Places, like people, have memories. Trauma and pain disrupt and change the energy of the ground or the structures. Land, houses: they remember. And, for sensitive people, those memories are communicated in different ways.

When my father died, I waited for a haunting. I prayed for one. But he never came; I think he would have if he could.

He's dead, Annie. But as long as you haven't dealt with the memories of the things he has done to you, he'll live on. We'll always have to face these times when you think he's returned for you. You'll never be free." It

And how the connections between them were as terribly fragile as they were indelible.

Some things don't leave us. We just learn to live with them better.

In addition to the smells of mince and pumpkin pies, the Sage and onions of turkey stuffing, another aroma floated in the air, the very essence of Santa Claus. Years later, when I was grown up, I still remembered that marvelous fragrance and recognized it as Scotch whisky.

It was a sad tune," Eilonwy said. "But the odd thing about it is, you don't mind the sadness. It's like feeling better after you've had a good cry. It made me think of the sea again, though I haven't been there since I was a little girl.

It seemed like a garden where no frost could wither or rough wind blow--a garden remembering a hundred vanished summers." ? L.M. Montgomery, Emily of New Moon

And here in this room, I re-experience the memories again and again it is how wisdom comes and how we shape our future.

Memories are forever.

The man that I named The Giver passed along to the boy knowledge, history, memories, color, pain, laughter, love, and truth. Every time you place a book in the hands of a child, you do the same thing.

The worse part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.

The man that I named The Giver passed along to the boy knowledge, history, memories, color, pain, laughter, love, and truth. Every time you place a book in the hands of a child, you do the same thing. It is very risky. But each time a child opens a book, he pushes open the gate that separates him from Elsewhere. It gives him choices. It gives him freedom. Those are magnificent, wonderfully unsafe things.

But why can't everyone have the memories? I think it would seem a little easier if the memories were shared. You and I wouldn't have to bear so much by ourselves, if everybody took a part. The Giver sighed. You're right, he said. But then everyone would be burdened and pained. They don't want that. And that's the real reason The Receiver is so vital to them, and so honored. They selected me - and you - to lift that burden from themselves.

Time goes on, and your life is still there, and you have to live it. After a while you remember the good things more often than the bad. Then, gradually, the empty silent parts of you fill up with sounds of talking and laughter again, and the jagged edges of sadness are softened by memories.

Thank you for your childhood.

Why do you and I have to hold these memories? It gives us wisdom, The Giver replied.

It's just that...without the memories, it's all meaningless.

But how did you know? How did you know the pilot was lost?" "I didn't. I used my wisdom, from the memories. I knew that there had been times in the past—terrible times—when people had destroyed others in haste, in fear, and had brought about their own destruction.