Quotes About Memories

Because in the summers, the world came back to the lake," she'd reply. "And that was when it felt like home.

Sabia que no había ninguna garantía. Ninguna manera de saber lo que vendría después para mi, o para el, o para cualquiera. Algunas cosas no duran para siempre, pero otras si. Como una buena canción, o un buen libro, o un buen recuerdo que tu puedas sacar y desplegar en tus momentos mas oscuros, oprimiendo las esquinas y mirando detenidamente, esperando que aún reconozcas a la persona que ves allí.

This made me smile, reminding me of how much I really liked my brother. Despite our differences, we did have a history. No one understood where I was coming from the way he did.

Algunas cosas no duran para siempre, pero otras sí. Como una buena canción, o un buen libro, o un buen recuerdo que se puede recuperar y contemplar en los malos momentos..

Me and Ethan, dancing in the dark at the end of the world.

The past was so sticky, full of land mines: I made it a point, usually, not to be so detailed in the map of myself I handed over to a guy. And the song, that song, was one of the biggest keys to me. Like a soft spot, a bruise that never quite healed right. The first place I was sure they would strike back, when the time came for them to do so.

More than our old house, or our Wildflower Ridge place, the beach shack was my dad. I knew if he was haunting any place, it would be there, and for that reason I'd stayed away.

It seemed amazing to me that one night could hold so much, from a merry-go-round to a Pop-Tart with frosting to the most beautiful singing I'd ever heard.

You can't measure love by time put in, but the weight of those moments.

You were happy at the time, though," I said. "That has to count for something.

In the end, I went away for the summer, fell in love, and everything changed. It's the oldest story in the world.

El hogar no era una casa concreta, ni una ciudad en el mapa, sino el lugar donde están las personas a las que quieres, siempre que están juntos. No es un espacio, sino la suma de los momentos que se van construyendo, uno sobre otro, como ladrillos, un refugio sólido que llevas contigo toda tu vida, vayas donde vayas.

It's funny how one summer can change everything. It must be something about the heat and the smell of chlorine, fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle, asphalt sizzling after late-day thunderstorms, the steam rising while everything drips around it. Something about long, lazy days and whirring air conditioners and bright plastic flip-flops from the drugstore thwacking down the street. Something about fall being so close, another year, another Christmas, another beginning.

Everyone can reach back to one summer and lay a finger to it, finding the exact point when everything changed. That summer was mine.

After the death of Alfonso, she had vowed she would never trust him again, had believed that she would hate him for ever. Yet almost against her will, he has found his way back into her thoughts, so that there have been moments these last months when she realises that she is missing him: his diamond-sharp energy, his certainty and confidence about everything, and his raw, absolute, undying love.

She never got a chance to fall out of love, to do it properly, slowly and thoroughly, and the result was he was like a phantom limb. Gone but still there. And like a true phantom limb, the preponderance of feelings associated with him were painful.

There is a girl who still writes you; she doesn't know how not to.

She makes tea by hand. Nettles, slippery elm, turmeric, cinnamon - my mother is a recipe for warm throats and belly laughs. Once she fell off a ladder when I was three. She says all she was worried about was my face as I watched her fall.

It is hard to stop loving the ocean, even after it has left you gasping.

There is somehow something extraordinarily alluring about the scent of old paper, and the feel of brittle pages.  It's a gateway opening onto the past; it's a hand stretching out from the long-ago to clasp yours.

It's something so simple: two friends spending time together. But it's been so long since I've experienced that and I miss it.

Technically, it's a family restaurant, but it will only remind you of your family if your mom chain-smoked menthols.

Some of these days, Oh, you'll miss me honey

And where was that day? Past and dead. Whose humiliating memories were these? His and not his father's. What had he to think back on that he could call good? Very, very little. You had to forgive. First, to forgive yourself, and then, general forgiveness.