Quotes About Memories

He was also a good friend and an old one and the best kind of company.

Love brings up our unresolved feelings . One day we are feeling loved , and the next day we are suddenly afraid to trust love . The painful memories of being rejected begin to surface when we are faced with trusting and accepting our partner's love .

I want to leave a mark. But Van Houten: The marks humans leave are too often scars.

If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?

The marks humans leave are too often scars.

I know so many last words. But I will never know hers.

This is what I liked most about my friends: just sitting around and telling stories. Window stories and mirror stories.

Ah! on Thanksgiving day.... When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before. What moistens the lips and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich pumpkin pie?

The great eventful Present hides the Past; but through the din Of its loud life hints and echoes from the life behind steal in.

owning a dog always ended with this sadness because dogs just don't live as long as people do.

Then let me tell you a thing I've learned in my eighty-nine years. This house, the friends and memories—I'd trade it all for a chance to do what that young woman just did: a noble act, freely undertaken. How many of us have such a chance? And how many the courage to take it?

We and the trees and the way Back from the fields of play Lasted as long as we could. No more walks in the wood.

Mid pleasures and palaces though I may roam, be it ever so humble there's no place like home.

It's like being at the kids' table at Thanksgiving - you can put your elbows on it, you don't have to talk politics... no matter how old I get, there's always a part of me that's sitting there.

What is hardest to accept about the passage of time is that the people who once mattered the most to us wind up in parentheses.

In increments both measurable and not, our childhood is stolen from us -- not always in one momentous event but often in a series of small robberies, which add up to the same loss.

I retain a stupid, Romantic love for pens and pads. The stuff of writing still affects me. And I've always been someone who will go to the bathroom in the middle of dinner to write down something, a word or idea, that for whatever reason had not wanted to be lost. You have to be a squirrel in that way. You have to be a chipmunk, and what you are collecting are combinations of words.

El pasado es una confusión fugitiva de recuerdos peligrosos y dolorosos. ¿Por qué iba a querer regresar?

Cuando se tiene la edad que tengo yo, todo trae recuerdos. Uno pasa más tiempo mirando hacia atrás que hacia delante.

And they are gone: aye, ages long agoThese lovers fled away into the storm.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

You have many years to livedo things you will be proud to remember when you're old.

It is Remembrance Day. A time to conjure up the mighty fallen. Friends and relatives rotting in the channel and mud of France. But the old man won't remember quite yet. Not till he's had his breakfast and read the paper. Then he will let the memories come back. Relive the good old days.

It is a sad day when one looks back and sees that his largest regrets have become some of the most integral elements of his dreams.