Quotes About Memories

Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.

Next day on returning I found him dead in the snow with his head on the sill of the door—the door of his puppyhood's days; my dog to the last in his heart of hearts—it was my help he sought, and vainly sought, in the hour of his bitter extremity.

There are moments that keep themselves in our memories: unexpected flashpoints of meaning we don't even recognize until the years, loves, worries have tempered the cloudy chatter of everyday concerns and have left only the brightest flashes: permanent, unchanging images that will most conspicuously blaze at that final, brilliant moment when our lives are said to pass before our dimming eyes.

I was thinking (when he hit his 500th home run) about my mother and dad, about all the people in the Chicago Cubs organization that helped me and about the wonderful Chicago fans who have come out all these years to cheer me on. Theyve been a great inspiration to me.

Todos vosotros conocéis la profunda melancolía que nos sobrecoge al recordar los tiempos felices. Esos tiempos que se han alejado para no volver más y de los cuales estamos más implacablemente separados que por cualquier distancia. Y las imágenes de la vida son más seductoras todavía vistas en el reflejo que nos dejan, y pensamos en ellas como en el cuerpo de una amada difunta que reposara bajo tierra y que de pronto se nos apareciera, como un luminoso espejismo...

Entonces confundo el final con el principio, el primer beso con el último? —Los besos no se cuentan, costado mío, ése no era el beso uno, tal vez el milésimo de los esperados. Ningún beso es el primero, todos son los segundos. El primero te lo di detrás de los cristales el día de la escalada al balcón. Por mí subías el precipicio. Te concedí entonces mi primera vez.

L'infanzia smette ufficialmente quando si aggiunge il primo zero agli anni. Smette ma non succede niente, si sta dentro lo stesso corpo di marmocchio inceppato delle altre estati, rimescolato dentro e fermo fuori.

Me ne stavo rinchiuso nell'infanzia per balia asciutta avevo la stanzetta dove dormivo sotto i castelli di libri di mio padre. Salivano da terra sul soffitto, erano torri, cavalli e fanti di una scacchiera messa in verticale. Di notte entravano nei sogni le polveri di carta. Nell'infanzia ai piedi dei libri, gli occhi non conoscevano le lacrime.

En los relatos de mamá, de la abuela, de la tía, estaban los grandes almacenes de historias. Sus voces han formado mi sintaxis, mis frases escritas no son más largas que el aliento que se precisa para pronunciarlas".

War is when young men dream of being grandfathers.

Les livres gardent l'empreinte d'une personne plus que les vêtements et les chaussures.

When you get homesick, it's not something missing, it's something present, a visit. People and places from far away arrive and keep you company for a while.

Me and Tom used to get along first-rate concerning everything. Me and him never had no difficulties like I was always having with my other children. They used to throw rocks at me and hit me over the head with sticks, but Tom never did. Tom was always a first-rate boy when I knowed him.

But now the days are short,I'm in the Autumn of the year,And now I think of my lifeAs vintage wine from the old kegs.From the brim to the dregsIt poured sweet and clear;It was a very good year!

It's like that, I guess, when the past come to collect what you owe.

dark Portuguese figs we'd given him from our trip to the Serra da Estrela.

I don't hold memories in my hand, but I'll never let them go.

În seara aceea, stau în buc?t?ria casei înguste, beau o ceaÈ™c? cu ceai È™i m?nânc o felie de pâine cu gem dulce de la generozitate È™i acru de la amintiri.

too, would never ever go visit their country. Because when he went with his parents to Germany fifty years ago everything looked nice, but it ended in hell.

But again and again that night there came to him Meg's white, still face as it lay on the scarlet cushions, and he knew the wind that stirred the curtains at the window had been playing with the long grass in the churchyard a few minutes since.

We never had a bathtub. Mom would bathe me in the wooden or tin washtub in the kitchen, or in a big lard can.

Mom never quit on me. My only regret is that she didn't live long enough to share some of the money and comforts my work in show business has brought me.

Johnny Guitar... just one of my favorite singers of all time. I met him when we were both on the road with Johnny Otis in the '50s when I was a teenager. We traveled the country in a car together.I would hear him sing every night.

Each of the beings necessary to our existence who disappears takes away with him a whole world of feelings that no other relationship can revive.