Quotes About Memories

A thought struck me: maybe I wouldn't ever be the real me again. Because the only thing that would snap things back to the way they were, would be if he had't died.

Perhaps one day in the far-off future, when I'm about eighty-nine, I might look back and say, "When I was a young-ish woman I fell in love with an intense charismatic man. He was way out of my league and when it ended it nearly killed me, but every woman should experience that sort of love once in their lives. Only once, mind, you mightn't survive a second bout. A bit like dengue fever, that way." I

People say it's the finality of death that they can't handle. But what was tearing me apart was that I didn't know where Aidan was. I mean, he had to be somewhere. All his opinions and thoughts and memories and hopes and feelings, all the things that were unique to him, that made him a one-off human being—they couldn't be just gone.

Should you live each second to the full, grabbing every opportunity and making as many precious memories as possible? Or should you carefully salt resources away, having a comfortable buffer zone in place, in the event that disaster struck? It was impossible to decide, because you never knew what was coming down the tracks.

Well, Gascon, I'm going to miss your long blue hair. How on earth will I find you in a crowd now?

The years came and went, the children came and left. The worst of getting old is not tiredness and aches and pains, but the time rushes on, so quickly that in the end it doesn't seem to exist.It's Christmas and then it's Easter. It's a clear winter's day and then a hot summer's day. In between it's a vacuum.

There is only ever one answer to the question what did you do with your life, and it's the same--fleeting and unknowable--for every one of us. I lived.

that is real in our past is the love we gave and the love we received.

Had any one dared to say this truth to me then, I should have bade him go and preach nonsense to children,—but now,—when I recall those white leaves of days that were unrolled before me fresh and blank with every sunrise, and with which I did nothing save scrawl my own Ego in a foul smudge across each one, I tremble, and inwardly pray that I may never be forced to send back my self-written record!

Les rencontres nous signent. Nous devenons des livres d'or. Nous apprenons à parler des mots donnés par nos aimés. Quand il la revoit, sa voix avait des plis comme la soie.

Over the following days and weeks I would come to see, with mounting weariness, that this was to be the pattern of my life from now on: marginal and grim; my habitual daydreams and memories of our life as a couple reduced to nothing, to stuttering salvoes, by the gunpowder of the simple physical truth of my husband's absence.

the fact that nobody liked me at school began to fade out of my mind like blue magic marker reminders scrawled on the back of a greasy fist." greasy fist." - Marilyn Manson

Every sorrow suggests a thousand songs, and every song recalls a thousand sorrows, and so they are infinite in number, and all the same.

He will talk to me a little while, too shy to tell me why he has come, and then he will thank me and leave, walking backward a few steps, thinking, Yes, the barn is still there, yes, the lilacs, even the pot of petunias. This was my father's house. And I will think, He is young. He cannot know that my whole like has come down to this moment. That he has answered his father's prayers.

Remembering my youth makes me aware that I never really had enough of it, it was over before I was done with it.

She thought, if we stay here, soon enough it will be you sitting at the table and me, I don't know, cooking something, and the snow flying, and the old man so glad we're here he'll be off in his study praying about it. And geraniums in the window. Red ones.

I knew perfectly well at the time, as I had for years and years, that the Lord absolutely transcends any understanding I have of Him, which makes loyalty to Him a different thing from loyalty to whatever customs and doctrines and memories I happen to associate with Him.

I remember once my father and my grandfather were sitting on the porch together, crackling and shelling black walnuts. They loved each other's company, when they weren't at each other's throats, which meant when they were silent, as they were that day.

La infancia no dura para siempre. Algún día lo lamentarás. Pronto serás tan alta como yo.

He had a way of anticipating memories he particularly didn't want to have.

it's hard to find time to think about Kansas.

Memories are by their nature fragmented, isolated, and arbitrary as glimpses one has at night through lighted windows.

As you read this, I hope you will understand that when I speak of the long night that preceded these days of my happiness, I do not remember grief and loneliness so much as I do peace and comfort—grief, but never without comfort; loneliness, but never without peace. Almost never.

People change, they have faulty memories, gratitude for past generosities fades.