Quotes About Memories

bereavement; and now—an elderly man—

Are you learning me by heart, little Sara? he said, stroking her hair. No, she answered. I know you by heart. You are inside my heart

So taking it, she stood among the dried, withered things and looked in tender regret at them.

And my mother, whose radius of travel was short, tied the letters with ribbon and kept them in her desk, When you get the chance, she said to me, go.

You have to churn somewhat when the roof covering your head is at stake, since to sell is to walk away from a cluster of memories and to buy is to choose where the future will take place.

Used to have a pet turtle named George.

The South I knew didn't transcend. I wanted out of there. No future I imagined took place below the southern fall line. "She took the first thing smoking on the runway out of here," my family is fond of remembering. But they forget; there was no runway.

Dear Angel Juan, You used to guard my sleep like a panther biting back my pain with the edge of your teeth. You carried me into the dark dream jungle, loping past the hungry vines, crossing the shiny fish-scale river. We left my tears behind in a chiming silver pool. We left my sorrow in the muddy hollows. When I woke up you were next to me, damp and matted, your eyes hazy, trying to remember the way I clung to you, how far down we went. Was the journey too far, Angel Juan? Did we go too far?

Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It's a magpie Christmas market.

Weetzie could not even cry and make Kleenex roses. She remembered the day her father, Charlie, had driven away in the smashed yellow T-bird, leaving her mother Brandy-Lynn clutching her flowered robe with one hand and an empty glass in the other, and leaving Weetzie holding her arms crossed over her chest that was taking its time to develope into anything

My baby brother would never call Hex soft. Not Hex. And not me, either. Not anymore. Not any fucking more.

The homes of so many skeletons. People who used to fight over the last blueberry muffin at the breakfast table, get down on their knees to scrub bathroom floors, and kiss one another good night, thinking they were at least relatively safe. Now they are just dust in the debris.

Everybody at Sweet Valley High, even Elizabeth, seemed to forget that there was ever a fat and ugly Robin. But Robin would never forget.

The ocean knew where her sailor was. We have seen him, said the waves. He is sleeping with us. You will never kiss his lips or feel the weight of his body again.

Grief is deeper when the sun goes down and memories rise up with the moon and stars.

We grieve for those we've lost, but it's the living that cause us the most pain....

In spring, Granny would send me off to pick bluets, violets, and windflowers. As the weeks passed, she'd ask for yellow lady's slippers and bleeding hearts, then roses and white rhododendron clusters that grew along the stream. She'd always seem to know the day when the mayflies danced and died. When I'd come back from whatever venture she'd sent me on, she'd talk about how life was precious.

If you would tell me the heart of a man, tell me not what he reads, but what he rereads.

Ou sont les neiges d'antan?

Et Jehanne, la bonne Lorraine, Qu'Anglais brulerent a Rouen, Ou sont-elles, Vierge souv'raine, Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?

I miss tarty tarts.

I miss you, dad.

The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day.

Hatter, my love, we never got a chance to say good-bye. --Weaver