Quotes About Memories

Me pregunto muchas veces si la infancia es un espejismo. Recurro tantas veces a ella que me da miedo pensar que posiblemente la haya deformado o idealizado. Desde que tengo conciencia de mí misma, he sabido que quería hacerme mayor viviendo como cuando era niña. Volverme adulta haciendo el camino a la inversa, regresar a lo que me rodeaba y me hizo tener tanto apego al campo. Soy lo que soy gracias a la infancia.

Perdre quelqu'un qu'on a aimé est terrible, mais le pire serait de ne pas l'avoir rencontré.

Il est des petites choses que l'on laisse derrière soi, des moments de vie ancrés dans la poussière du temps. On peut tenter de les ignorer, mais ces petits riens mis bout à bout forment une chaîne qui vous raccroche au passé.

A l'adolescence, on rêve du jour où l'on quittera ses parents, un autre jour ce sont vos parents qui vous quittent. Alors, on ne rêve plus qu'à pouvoir redevenir, ne serait-ce qu'un instant, l'enfant qui vivait sous leur toit, les prendre dans vos bras, leur dire sans pudeur qu'on les aime, se serrer contre eux pour qu'ils vous rassurent encore une fois.

Certains moments ont un goût d'éternité.

This is the time to make those hard decisions and let things go. Ask yourself, "Is this item part of my past or my future?" If it's sentimental, take a picture and let it go! Save the memory in a picture, but not on your shelf.

How many together with whom I came into the world are already gone out of it.

Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones

All those people who came into the world with me and have already left it.

Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just. Then they will not care how devout you have been. But will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods then you will be gone but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of the loves ones.

These questions can be used by individual readers and also in reading groups in which participants are invited to share their memories and thoughts. Many of them invite reflection on previous or current understandings and are best used before treating the content of the relevant chapter. Some invite reflection about material in a particular chapter.

In the end, we'll all become stories.

This is what I miss, Cordelia: not something that's gone, but something that will never happen. Two old women giggling over their tea.

Old lovers go the way of old photographs, bleaching out gradually as in a slow bath of acid: first the moles and pimples, then the shadings. Then the faces themselves, until nothing remains but the general outlines.

Time folds you in its arms and gives you one last kiss, and then it flattens you out and folds you up and tucks you away until it's time for you to become someone else's past time, and then time folds again.

I am not my childhood,' Snowman says out loud.

In the end, we'll all become stories. Or else we'll become entities. Maybe it's the same.

I've never understood why people consider youth a time of freedom and joy. It's probably because they have forgotten their own.

You are a transitional generation, said Aunt Lydia. It is the hardest for you. We know the sacrifices you are being expected to make. It is hard when men revile you. For the ones who come after you, it will be easier. They will accept their duties with willing hearts. She did not say: Because they will have no memories, of any other way. She said: Because they won't want things they can't have.

We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

In pictures like these there are always empty shoes. It's the shoes that get to me. Sad, that innocent daily task - putting your shoes on your feet, in the firm belief that you'll be going somewhere.

Jimmy had been full of himself back then, thinks Snowman with indulgence and a little envy. He'd been unhappy too, of course. It went without saying, his unhappiness. He'd put a lot of energy into it.

The stains on the mattress. Like dried flower petals. Not recent. Old love; there's no other kind of love in this room now.

Already my childhood seemed far away—a remote age, faded and bittersweet, like dried flowers. Did I regret its loss, did I want it back? I didn't think so.