Quotes About Memories

She remembered her books in the moments of worst sorrow, especially the ones that were made for her and the one that saved her life.

There was the chaos of goodbye.

Sie hielten sich an den Händen. Ein letzter, durchnässter Abschied, dann drehten sie sich um und verließen den Friedhof, wobei sie mehrmals zurückschauten. Ich dagegen blieb noch ein Weilchen länger. Ich winkte. Niemand winkte zurück.

It was one of the joys of childhood.

Certainly, war meant dying, but it always shifted the ground beneath a person's feet when it was someone who had once lived and breathed in close proximity.

Ho lasciato le mie impronte sul mondo, per quanto piccole.

Goodbye, papa, you saved me. you taught me to read. No one can play like you. I'll never drink champagne. no one can play like you.

Maud (like my mother) thought food did a lot more than just fill you up.

He throws a quick arm around me and quotes a line we've always loved from The New Hampshire Hotel, Keep passing the open windows.

And look at all I've accumulated---a house! piles of clothing! two children! an ex-husband! books! boxes of letters! dishes! tiny shampoos from fancy hotels! vases! canned goods! jewelry! computers! acres of old journals! couches! bedsteads! toys galore! stuffed animals! and heaps of memories like wet rags, bunches of them, hanging off me, weighing me down.

Some of our best living is done through the people we leave behind.

The past weaves all around this; we still duck in and out of its lost but shimmering kingdoms.

There's no hurt that's equal to time lost.

My life has been a pleasant one and though I should regret to leave it, it would be a regret that perhaps I should never know.

To Pussy (1981-1995)

May you all return here often to remember that life can be sweet, that women are beautiful and that in the Périgord we never forget our friends." He turned to Moore.

It's never the same, drinking with your father," said Yevgeny and poured himself another vodka. "It's like kissing your sister; your heart isn't in it.

One day she would recall this very twilit evening and the sight of her children dancing on the shore and then... Yes, then she would wish she had stopped to hold their chubby hands and play tag along with them.

When she died, what would matter except that she loved and was loved in return?

This magical song took them all far from the muted peace of the suburban blocks they were familiar with, far, farther back to their youth, when they were smooth skinned, slim and sassy, when they walked the city streets with swinging hips, when their worlds delivered pearls.

Sometimes she felt that her heart would ssurely break. But she knew that hearts did not literally break because their owners were unhappy - and foolish. How dreadfully foolish she had been. Yet she clung to the memories as to a lifeline.

One could not live forever, though, upon memories and dreams. One could not forever ignore the fact that one was alone and that perhaps one would be alone for the rest of one's life.

We are made up of everything we have ever been, Percy. It is the joy and the pain of our individuality. There are no two of us the same.

If there were no illusions, there would bo no disillusionment. But then one would have no fond memories either, with which fortify oneself against the pain of the reality.