Quotes About Memories

Memories are treasures," he murmured. "Lock the best of them in your mind forever, the most splendid moments, and throw away the rest. Any day when you gain such a treasure is a day well-spent.

I don't really care how I am remembered as long as I bring happiness and joy to people.

This is the undertow of black politics: traumatic memories that cling to our choices like ghosts who can't find peace as white America refuses to change again. Like Baldwin, we have to bear witness to it all and tell the story of how we got here—and then, just maybe, we can muster the resolve and will to push this damn rock up the hill again.

Time passes, but memories linger.

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home,A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes havet' roamAfore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind,An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind.

It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home

I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.

Things we conceal from others are insecurities that we are ashamed to admit, feelings and impulses we consider to be anti-social or inconsistent with our self-image, memories of events where we failed or performed badly against our own standards, and, most important, reactions to other people that we judge would be impolite or hurtful to reveal to their face.

All, all, are sleeping on the hill.

And I never started to plow in my life That some one did not stop in the road And take me away to a dance or picnic. I ended up with forty acres; I ended up with a broken fiddle— And a broken laugh, and a thousand memories, And not a single regret.

The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished; And what is love but a rose that fades?

When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for something they never had, and never will have.

An old man loved is winter with flowers.

Zane," I whispered breathlessly, knowing it was wrong, but powerless to stop myself. "If things were different... if you were alive... and I was alive-" "Yes," he said immediately, interrupting me. He leaned in closer. His voice was no more than a whisper. "Absolutely, yes. Don't ever doubt it, Kail.

Maybe other people found comfort in memories, but not me. Memories brought pain

the corner by the old Piggly Wiggly building, I felt the familiar edge

Those years on Marbachweg were among our best times.

I suppose I ought to describe my father, but it isn't easy. Sometimes over the years he seemed one thing and sometimes another. He was a good-looking man, strong and ruddy. When I was little he seemed tall to me, but by the time I was thirteen he had become medium.

On the green they watched their sons Playing till too dark to see, As their fathers watched them once, As my father once watched me

When we are young... we often experience things in the present with a nostalgia-in-advance, but we seldom guess what we will truly prize years from now.

I'd learned to feel nostalgia for my own youth while I was living it.

I'd rather come back with a few transcendent memories than an album of snapshots.

Reata," he said two decades later

My mother died when I was 18. Up until then, I never saw a tin can in my house. (Washington Post interview, 1990)