Quotes About Memories

My parents loved me. My father used to carry me around on my shoulders. I know my father loved me. All families love their children, and we were good boys.

My father and I used to watch movies all the time. That was our bonding time, so thats when I kind of fell in love with acting.

I love Vancouver. I can be with my family, I can reconnect with the guys. It will always be my home.

I love San Francisco. It would be a perfect place for a honeymoon.

I love London. I loved it when I went there in the late '50s.

It's easier to identify with loss than love, because we have had so much more experience of it.

What is first love worth, except to prepare for a second? What does second love bring? Only regret for the first.

Love is the only possession which we can carry with us beyond the grave.

I think teen-age love is a great thing. There's nothing quite like it and never will be for the rest of your life.

You find new love not to forget the past love. But you forget the past because of that new love.

It's sick that I experienced a once in a lifetime love - still as strong as the day it happened - & have been punished every single day since.

When you feel your child truly loves you back, it makes you wish you had kissed your parents more.

What were the seventies even about? Was it all smoking and listening to this kind of stuff and riding around in huge cars without wearing seat belts? This was the song everyone liked?

Gaenor and Paul, her year twelve boyfriend, known to make out while eating shepherd's pie, which is not a euphemism.

more never came home from the other trenches,' said

First love is the only pure and happy one. If it goes wrong, nothing can replace it. Later loves can never attain to the same limpid perfection; though they may be as solid, as marble, they are streaked with veins of another colour, the dried blood of the past.

Days lived, whether full or empty, whether busy or serene, are but days gone by, and the ashes of the past weigh the same in every hand.

A book is really like a lover. It arranges itself in your life in a way that is beautiful. Even as a kid, my sister, who was the eldest, brought books home for me, and I think I spent more time sniffing and touching them than reading. I just remember the joy of the book, the beauty of the binding. The smelling of the interior. Happy. [Interview with Emma Brockes, The Believer , November/December, 2012]

Never fear. When this rose blooms, you will be with me again.

I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more. ... What I dread is the isolation. ... There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.

With the passing of its last marcher, Rube Marquard, the parade vanished into the mists of time, leaving in its wake only memories of the men and deeds gone by.

Seeing him with Mom in his eyes and no sadness there at all. Maybe that was why everybody liked nostalgia. It was the past with only the good parts left in.

As she sat here in the bay-window of her room, she was not reviewing the splendid pageant of her past. She was a young person whose reveries never were in retrospect. For her the part was no treasury of distinct memories, all hoarded and classified, some brighter than others and more highly valued. All memories were for her but as the motes in one fused radiance that followed her and made more luminous the pathway of her future. She was always looking forward.

Take away his love for her, and what remained? Nothing—though only in the past twenty-four hours had this love been added to him.