Quotes About Memories

David's hand rest on Sebastien's shirt front and cravat, over where his heart would have beat when he still lived. The pressure felt like a trap, suddenly, and Sebastien pulled away and stood, flicking his suitjacket straight, with his thumbs.

He remembered hard hands turned generous, and shuddered.

You are always in my thoughts. When you were little, I knew your whereabouts at any given moment. Now that you are...off on your own, I still always know where you are, because I keep you in my heart.

old ladies who remembered when cotton briefs only cost ten cents a pair.

In her eyes I saw the pain that comes from regrets that will never be lifted.

Ghosts seem harder to please than we are; it is as though they haunted for haunting's sake -- much as we relive, brood, and smoulder over our pasts.

Looking back at a repetition of empty days, one sees that monuments have sprung up. Habit is not mere subjugation, it is a tender tie: when one remembers habit it seems to have been happiness.

It is queer to be in a place when someone has gone. It is not two other places, the place that they were there in, and the place that was there before they came. I can't get used to this third place or to staying behind.

There are still places I cannot walk past, though we only walked here those two days. When I walk I look for places we did not go.

I deleted your number. Although I know the tired digits by heart, scout's honor, pinky promise. I am trying to talk myself out of every emotion I'm having, and of course, it is failing to a fault. I'm still sad, I'm still mad, I'm still heartbroken, I miss you.

How can any child grope its way through life if its parents or guardians tear up all the pages of the past?

know we argued—at times I hated him—but I loved him too, and he was always there. Now there is a hole and I cannot bear to look at it, yet neither can I bear to cover it with earth.

I have memories of him that are like jewels, and others that are stones but my memories of you are always consistent, Mama." "And are they jewels or stones." Alienor asked with a strained smile. "Neither," Matilda answered. "They are pure gold.

embrace the small pleasures and turn them into lasting memories." 31 The Alps, Winter 1190–1 Alienor and Berenguela pushed on with their journey, stopping at nightfall to claim hospitality at monasteries, castles, and towns that were friendly.

There will be a great hole in the fabric of my being when he is gone, but not as great a hole as the one had I not known him.

All that remained were poignant memories, and she must face reality, not live on dreams.

Perhaps the most important lesson I have learned is to embrace the small pleasures and turn them into lasting memories.

When you love someone, it's never over,' Dr. Carruthers replied gently. 'You move on, because you have to, but you bring him in your heart.

Its just the anniversary, she wanted to tell him. Its just this time of the year stirring up these memories. Everything will be all right. But she couldn't say that, because she wasn't sure it was true.

Every night she had fallen asleep dreaming about that kiss, and each kiss after.

Experience had taught me not to get close to guys who fell in love with Liza. I had been burned twice and I knew I couldn't compete. It didn't matter that I could no longer give a guy access to my sister; if Mike knew who I was, I'd be access to romantic memories of her. He'd start looking for traits and signs of her in me. And I wasn't setting myself up for that kind of heartache.

But people were used to saying "Deerwander" now, without thinking about the name one way or another; they might still be saying "Deerwander" when the village became a city, where children lived who had never seen a deer drinking at a rain pool in a hollow of the granite.

Grownups! Everyone remembers them. How strange and even sad it is that we never became what they were: beings noble, infallible, and free. We never became them . One of the things we discover as we live is that we never become anything different from what we are. We are no less ourselves at forty than we were at four, and because of this we know grownups as Grownups only once in life: during our own childhood. We never meet them in our lives again, and we will miss them always.

Like ghosts the children walked across the lawn on their bare feet. The moon was full. Above the damp grass hung a veil of mist, luminous with moonlight and spangled with fireflies. There was no wind, and the sound of the brook was very distinct, tinkling, splashing, running softly. It made Mona think of an ancient fountain, shaped like a shell, covered with moss, and set in a secluded garden. Something she half remembered, or imagined.