Quotes About Memories

Home...if there is a more beautiful word in any language, I do not know it.

Never more to find her where the bright waters flow...her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown

Aunt Blythe went inside to check on Great-grandfather, but I sat on the front steps and watched the sun sink behind the trees across the highway. A little chill crept across my skin. Summer was almost over. Soon my parents would return and I'd go back to Chicago. There would be no more midnight meetings in the attic. No croquet games with Hannah, no boxing lessons from John, no fights with Edward.

The hurts of childhood that must be avenged: so small and so huge.

There comes a time', the White Crow said, 'when you can't smell the air of any kind of a day without it bringing some other past day to mind. When that happens, you're not old, but you're no longer young.

It's funny how, even long after you've accepted the grief of losing someone you love and truly have gotten on with your life, every once in a while something comes up that plays gotcha, and for a moment or tow the car tissue seperates and the wound is raw again.

Het doet me aan mijn Giuliana denken... Ik ben haar voorgoed kwijt. - Enrico

I couldn't have been more than six, but I was calling her an ignorant little bitch. Her momma stood on the porch step shaking her mop at me and saying there were snakes and lizards coming out of my mouth, to which I said i didn't give a shit.

But most of the time, we keep memories packed away. I sometimes liken that moment of sudden unpacking to circus clowns pouring out of a miniature car trunk—how did so much fit into such a small space?

After Mother got her picture, we all stood around the fire truck eating moon-shaped cookies dusted with powdered sugar that the mayor's wife had brought in some Tupperware. It was stuff like that that'd break your heart about Leechfield, what Daddy meant when he said the town was too ugly not to love.

I threw away over 1,200 finished pages of my last memoir and broke the delete key on my keyboard changing my mind. If I had any balls at all, I'd make a brooch out of it.

For the more haunted among us, only looking back at the past can permit it finally to become past.

Yet through alcohol's alchemy, I'd swear some nights his shadowy form stands in the yard behind an old push-type lawn mower. Why'd you keep drinking? And Daddy, who was a shrugger, a starer into distances, shrugs and stares. You know…Then he dissolves into the falling snow. I upend the smooth bourbon, trying to achieve the same blunt, anesthetized state that once snuffed him out.

clawing at my heart all these years.

Halcyon days," he repeated. "I guess you don't know you're living them until years later, looking in the rearview mirror.

After a moment of fiddling with the tuning dial she found a radio station playing '90s oldies.

I wish I could show you the little village where I was born. It's so lovely there...I used to think it too small to spend a life in, but now I'm not so sure.

A trophy carries dust. Memories last forever.

And it is exceedingly short, his galloping life. Dogs die so soon. I have my stories of that grief, no doubt many of you do also. It is almost a failure of will, a failure of love, to let them grow old—or so it feels. We would do anything to keep them with us, and to keep them young. The one gift we cannot give.

Where has this cold come from? "It comes from the death of your friend." Will I always, from now on, be this cold? "No, it will diminish. But always it will be with you." What is the reason for it? "Wasn't your friendship always as beautiful as a flame?

What is one to do with such moments, such memories, but cherish them? Who knows what is beyond the known? And if you think that any day the secret of light might come, would you not keep the house of your mind ready? Would you not cleanse your study of all that is cheap, or trivial? Would you not live in continual hope, and pleasure, and excitement?

There was someone I loved who grew old and ill. One by one I watched the fires go out. There was nothing I could do except to remember that we receive then we give back.

FOR TOM SHAW S.S.J.E. (1945–2014) Where has this cold come from? "It comes from the death of your friend." Will I always, from now on, be this cold? "No, it will diminish. But always it will be with you." What is the reason for it? "Wasn't your friendship always as beautiful as a flame?

It's impossible not to remember wild and want it back.