Quotes About Memories

History is not just a tale of men's making, but is a thing tied to the land. We call a hill by the name of a hero who died there, or name a river after a princess who fled beside its banks, and when the old names vanish, the stories go with them and the new names carry no reminder of the past.

Amavo moltissimo la mia Ceinwyn. Anche ora, dopo anni, sorrido quando la penso; a volte, di notte, mi sveglio con le lacrime agli occhi e so di averle versate per lei. Il nostro amore era nato in una vampata di passione e i saggi dicono che simili passioni si spengono sempre, ma la nostra non se era spenta: si era mutata in un amore intenso e duraturo.

Eu ama Ceinwyn demais. Mesmo agora, anos depois, sorria ao pensar nela, e algumas vezes acordo de noite com lágrimas no rosto e sei que se devem a ela.

Sharpe wanted to be ready and so he untied the rag from his musket's lock and stuffed it into the pocket where he kept the ring Mary had given him. The ring, a plain band of worn silver, had belonged to Sergeant Bickerstaff, Mary's husband, but the Sergeant was dead now and Green had taken Bickerstaff's sergeant's stripes and Sharpe his bed.

much followed from that hurried ceremony in the flower-speckled clearing beside the stream. So many died. There was so much heartache, so much blood and so many tears that they would have made a great river; yet, in time, the eddies smoothed, new rivers joined, and the tears went down to the great wide sea and some people forgot how it ever began. The time of glory did come, yet what might have been never did, and of all those who were hurt by that moment in the sun, Arthur was hurt the most.

Mourning died slowly. It never fully dies for something truly loved.

Ogni occhiata perduta, per uno che viveva di sguardi, era una perdita irrimediabile.

This is what must happen to old married couples, I thought: the young man is preserved in the old one for her, the beauty and grace of the young woman stay fresh in the old one for him.

Ist diese Traurigkeit die Traurigkeit schlechthin? Ist sie es, die uns befällt, wenn schöne Erinnerungen im Rückblick brüchig werden, weil das erinnerte Glück nicht nur aus der Situation, sondern aus einem Versprechen lebte, das nicht gehalten wurde?

Da qualche anno la lascio stare, la nostra storia. Ho fatto pace con lei. Ed ecco che è ritornata, particolare su particolare e in maniera così rotonda, conchiusa e regolata, che ora non mi rende più triste. Che razza di storia triste! ho pensato per tanto tempo. Non è che adesso pensi che sia felice. Ma penso che sia giusta.

Esa tristeza, ¿no será la tristeza pura? ¿Es eso lo que nos sobreviene cuando, al mirar atrás, los recuerdos hermosos se nos vuelven quebradizos, al ver que aquella felicidad no se alimentaba sólo de la situación del momento, sino de una promesa que no se cumplió?

No quiero desterrarte de mi vida. Siempre tendrás un lugar en mi corazón, un cofrecillo tuyo y de nadie más ante el que de vez en cuando me detendré para pensar en ti. Pero a hora tengo que cerrar el cofrecillo para poder atender otras cosas. De otro modo, duele demasiado.

In general, I find that things that have happened to me out of doors have made a deeper impression than things that have happened indoors.

And now, at last, we are here. Now Eric fingers his glass and questions me hopefully, while the music of Muthaiga marches through our talk, and festive people clasp hands, revive old toasts -- and make bets on tomorrow's Leger. One hundred pounds -- two hundred pounds... Has the filly a chance? Against Wrack? Of course not. Don't be too sure... don't be too sure. Why, I remember... Well, that's what makes a horse-race.

Life is life and fun is fun, but it's all so quiet when the goldfish die.

The distant roar of a walking lion rolls against the stillness of the night, and we listen. It is the voice of Africa bringing memories that do not exist in our minds or in our hearts - perhaps not even in our blood. It is out of time, but it is there, and it spans a chasm whose other side we cannot see.

Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart... filled it, too, with a melody that would last forever. Even though you grew up and found you could never quite bring back the magic feeling of this night, the melody would stay in your heart always - a song for all the years.

There ought to be a home for children to come to,—and their children,—a central place, to which they could always bring their joys and sorrows,—an old familiar place for them to return to on Sundays and Christmases. An old home ought always to stand like a mother with open arms. It ought to be here waiting for the children to come to it,—like homing pigeons.

Betty, who had found an old battered doll, was sitting quietly in the corner and industriously endeavoring to pick its one eye out

I don't suppose you have to believe in ghosts to know that we are all haunted, all of us, by things we can see and feel and guess at, and many more things that we can't.

We may not be able to throw away our difficult memories, but we can reframe them against the backdrop of God's attributes.

I have given Him permission to take every one of my memories captive to Christ, and now I can no longer see my abuses and sins in their own accord or in the hands of Satan. Now I see them in the healing, forgiving, nail-scarred hands of Jesus where He is cleansing them and transforming them into the stuff of mercy.

May our memories of kindness be long and of offenses be short.

The first jolt I received in my life was when I lost my father in a motorcycle accident when I was eight. I would have been with him if he hadn't turned down my request to go out with him that afternoon.