Quotes About Memories

We lived above the church, and I remember there was no air conditioning in the church. I would shut all the windows and I would have concerts in there. Practice, you know, take the microphones.

I started playing cricket with my brother in our back garden when I was eight. The garden was long and thin, so it was perfect for us to play cricket in. We'd use a crate as the wicket. We broke quite a few windows.

I was born in 1935, so I was quite young when the war started. I remember we were in Bath, and it was 1942. We went down into the cellar of our house, and when we came up, I remember seeing all the glass on the floor where all the windows had been shaken out by the bombs.

So they all went away from the little log house. The shutters were over the windows, so the little house could not see them go. It stayed there inside the log fence, behind the two big oak trees that in the summertime had made green roofs for Mary and Laura to play under.

When I was 8, I got a little toy propeller plane: You could turn it on and the people disappeared from the little windows and stewardesses appeared, and it ran along the ground.

The house I grew up in had large plate-glass windows, which birds frequently crashed into headfirst. My father helped me assemble a bird hospital, consisting of a few shoe boxes, some old rags, and tiny dishes for water and food.

A comic strip that your parents read when they were young is a curious thing: it's an heirloom, and it's also intimate. You peer through windows and look at the things that made your elders laugh, and then you wonder whether the laugh really belongs to you.

When I was a girl, my grandmother would take me during the holidays to see the windows at Saks and Rockefeller Center.

When she died, Mom left me her letters and journals. Windows into things I would have been too young to understand when she was alive, or too busy, or too much of a know-it-all.

My childhood bedroom - if childhood could be about ten years old - had a bed which was under windows which faced north. At about age 10, I started watching the stars just move through the night.

As a 9-year-old child, I vividly remember the day Hurricane Andrew touched down in 1992. My family was living in the Upper Florida Keys at the time, and we soon realized its utter devastation to South Florida, with entire blocks leveled by Andrew's vicious winds.

I look back at that time fondly. It's something I never thought I'd get the chance to do, be in a soap. Working with Barbara Windsor and Steve McFadden - they're legends in their own lifetimes aren't they?

I started to work at the Colony in March 1958. I remember my first day because the telephone started to ring, and it was Sinatra, three for lunch, his usual table; Onassis, two for lunch, usual table; the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, Leland Hayward, Truman Capote, all wanting their usual tables.

Those were hard times, but I loved living there. I would walk on the tracks, hopping, skipping. I enjoyed the neighborhood, I enjoyed El Paso. I remember being chased by tumbleweeds on windy days; they came up to my neck.

I know I have eaten more good food, drunk more beer and fine wine, had more friends, and seen more of the world than most men ever will.

We are delightfully trapped by our memories. I can't drink a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape Vieux Telegraphe without revisiting a hotel bistro in Luzerne, Switzerland, where I ate a large bowl of a peppery Basque baby goat stew. A sip and a bite. A bite and sip. Goose bumps come with the divine conjunction of food and wine.

The fun of sitting around Pangong Lake with 40 guys around a fireplace, having a glass of wine... staying in one camp together... that's an experience. Waking up at 5 in the morning, watching the sun come up. You don't do these things in Bombay.

Days of wine and roses laugh and run away, like a child at play.

We had our wheat. We made our own olive oil. We made our wine. We had chickens, ducks; we had sheep, cows, milk. So I was raised in a very simple situation but understanding really food from the ground... the essence of food and the flavors. And those memories I took with me, and I think that they lingered on.

They are not long, the days of wine and roses.

Mom still has a huge, beautifully decorated Christmas tree. The whole family comes together after midnight mass and has the traditional plum cake and wine. We spend the night at mom's home, and in the morning we wake up and open the presents. In the afternoon, we sit down to have a traditional Christmas lunch.

I definitely remember doing 'The Alamo' with John Wayne and Lawrence Harvey and Linda Cristal. We'd work six days a week, and then John Wayne would invite us down to a little place in Texas called Del Rio, and we would break bread and have some wine and tell stories.

When I was a kid, there was this neighborhood beer and wine store that sold old comics for a nickel a piece. I'd load up on old books whenever we went on vacation. Yeah, I have a lot of fond memories of riding in the back of the ol' station wagon and reading 'Mystery in Space' and 'Strange Adventures' as we headed up to Torch Lake.

I always had the feeling, even when I started, that my photography was meant to be archival in nature. Sort of like wine, I guess - they get better with age.