Quotes About Memories

I wouldn't have mentioned the fellow to you at all, only it was from his lips that I first heard the name of the man who is so indissolubly connected with the memories of that time.

Hubo un tiempo en que los hombres contaban.

How much older can you be at your age? A half minute before that you were stepping into high school, and an unhooked brassiere was as close as you ever hoped to get to Paradise. Only a fifth of a second before that you were a small kid with a ten-week summer vacation that lasted a hundred thousand years and still ended too soon. Zip! They go rocketing by so fast.

His childhood had been a pleasant, though disciplined, one. He got on well with his brothers and sisters, and he did not hate his mother and father, even though they had both been very good to him.

Polish sausage is going for peanuts in Cracow,' Milo informed him. 'polish sausage', sighed the general nostalgically. 'You know, I'd give just about anything for a good hunk of Polish sausage. Just about anything.

And she just wants everyone to remember -please remember- that once there was a darkly sparkling, glittering, shimmering, lovely dangerous time in this city when Aqua loved Jack. And Jack loved Aqua. And I loved Jack. And Jack loved me. And boys will be boys. And boys will be girls. And sometimes the show can't go on.

I've always thought that one of the signs of true adulthood is when you realize that you spend each Christmas trying to relive childhood memories that never really happened in the first place.

there are lines upon my face, from a lifetime of smiles

It is a signal feature of depression that, in times of trouble, sensible ideas, memories of good times, and optimism for the future all recede into blackness.

I think it's not inaccurate to say that I had a perfectly happy childhood during which I was very unhappy.

All for that welcome home dance, The most favorite of all-- when everyone finds their way back together to dance, eat and celebrate. And tell story after story of how they fought and played in the story wheel and how no one was ever really lost at all.

They lived and laughed and loved and left

The person you love best, you share the world with. When that person's gone the world remains but it isn't the same thing, it's at a distance.

The surreal is as integral a part of our lives as the 'real,' although one might argue that, since the unconscious underlies consciousness, and we are continuously bombarded by images, moods, and memories from that uncharitable terrain, it is in fact more primary than the 'real.

We begin as children imagining and fearing ghosts. By degrees, through our long lives, we come to be the very ghosts inhabiting the lost landscapes of our childhood.

You people who have survived childhood don't remeber any longer what it was like. You think children are whole, uncomplicated creatures, and if you split them in two with a handy axe there would be all one substance inside, hard candy. But it isn't hard candy so much as a hopeless seething lava of all kinds of things, a turmoil, a mess. And once the child starts thinking about this mess he begins to disintegrate as a child and turns into something else--an adult, an animal.

Being a grand-kid, you can so easily regress. All the ages you ever were are all recalled by the grandparent in a shimmery love-haze, like those blurred faces on tv, in which identities have been disguised.

It was the fate of mothers, to remember. What nobody else would know or care about. That, when they are gone, goes with them.

My crappy-kid's life. It was mostly a shitty life wasn't it, OK but I miss it.

All your life, you yearn to return to what has been. You yearn to return to those you have lost. You will do terrible things to return, which no one else can understand.

The last time I saw Paris, my heart was definitely not young and gay. Bitter and disillusioned would be more like it.

No doubt Richard's father, like my mother, had once held his infant son in his arms, looked into the eyes of his child's mother, and believed they would move into the future together with love. The fact that they didn't was a weight each of us carried, as every child does, probably, whose parents no longer live under the same roof. Wherever it is you make your home, there is always this other place, this other person, calling to you. Come to me. Come back.

the nostalgia for things that weren't yet lost.

Miraba caer las gotas iluminadas por los relámpagos, ya cada que respiraba suspiraba, y cada vez que pensaba, pensaba en ti