Quotes About Memories

Cities, in many ways, are the best repositories for a love affair. You are in a forest or a cornfield, you are walking by the seashore, footprint after footprint of trodden sand, and somehow the kiss or the spoken covenant gets lost in the vastness and indifference of nature. In a city there are places to remind us of what has been.

In our village back home, marriages were always between people who had known each other their whole lives. And all the boys I had known were dead. So I thought I would never get married. I thought I could never marry someone I hadn't known from when I was a child.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,I have forgotten, and what arms have lainUnder my head till morning;

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts to-night, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply...

Listen, children: Your father is dead. From his old coats I'll make you little jackets; I'll make you little trousers From his old pants. There'll be in his pockets Things he used to put there, Keys and pennies Covered with tobacco; Dan shall have the pennies To save in his bank; Anne shall have the keys To make a pretty noise with. Life must go on, Though good men die; Anne, eat your breakfast; Dan, take your medicine; Life must go on; I forget just why.

Night falls fast. Today is in the past.

Childhood Is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.

but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight

Childhood is the kingdom where nobody dies. Nobody that matters, that is.

A infância não vai do nascimento até certa idade,e a certa altura a criança está crescida,deixando de lado as coisas de criança.A infância é o reino onde ninguém morre.

but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Tavern" I'll keep a little tavern Below the high hill's crest, Wherein all grey-eyed people May sit them down and rest. There shall be plates a-plenty, And mugs to melt the chill Of all the grey-eyed people Who happen up the hill. There sound will sleep the traveller, And dream his journey's end, But I will rouse at midnight The falling fire to tend. Aye, 'tis a curious fancy-- But all the good I know Was taught me out of two grey eyes A long time ago.

If I had loved you less or played you slyly I might have held you for a summer more

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.

pues sé que el subconsciente, además de desvirtuar nuestra infancia, tergiversar nuestros afectos, recordarnos lo que ansiamos olvidar, revelarnos nuestra abyecta condición y destrozarnos, en suma, la vida, cuando se le antoja y a modo de compensación, hace las veces de despertador.

Llora por lo que ha perdido, mientras observa esa foto que rememora una tarde de victoria. Y llora, tal vez, por todas las veces que le ha tocado perder. Uno nunca llora por una sola cosa, cada vez que llora.

Aráoz va pensando, mientras abre la puerta y siente la noche fresca, casi fría, que los pasos que damos al principio de la vida son tan hondos que desde entonces no podemos sino caminar una y otra vez por esas huellas. Y es un pensamiento tan deprimente, y a la vez tan complejo para esa hora de la noche, que le resulta cada vez más evidente que a la vuelta no va a conseguir pegar un ojo.

El me miró risueño, y sembró una semilla más en el fértil potrero de mis sueños de pibe.

Supongo que ésos son los recuerdos que se le meten a uno en los recovecos del corazón, y echan cría y se nutren de su propio néctar, y nos marcan para toda la vida. Por lo menos así ocurrió conmigo.

Todavía me acuerdo de ese número once de cuero blanco, cosido en la camiseta como el de Bertoni. Pero ahora también veo, cuando me fijo con suficiente atención, que mi viejo también lleva lo suyo. Lo tiene ahí, en la espalda, justo a la altura del nacimiento de las alas: un diez de cuero blanco, igualito igualito al de Bochini.

Y si el precio de serlo es que jamás nadie lo sepa, que sea. Que sea ese el precio. Que todo esto permanezca en el más absoluto silencio. Que nadie sepa, nunca, ni ahora mientras caminamos en esta procesión callada, ni dentro de muchos años cuando sea una viejita memoriosa, Manuel, querido mío, lo mucho que te amé.

que a veces se nos va

Three things my daddy tried to learn me. 'Son', he always said, 'remember these three precepts and you can't go wrong. One, never eat at a place called Mom's. Two, never play cards with a man named Doc.' 'That's only two.' 'I can never recollect the third, and that's what worries me.

But it's all still there in my heart and soul. The walk, the hills, the sky, the solitary pain and pleasure—they will grow larger, sweeter, lovelier in the days and years to come, like a treasure found and then, voluntarily, surrendered.