Quotes About Memories

We said good-bye, and Dill went inside the house. He evidently remembered he was engaged to me, for he ran back out and kissed me swiftly in front of Jem. Yawl write, hear? he bawled after us.

What made you think of Dill?" she asked. "I don't know. Just thought of him." "You never liked him, did you?" Henry smiled. "I was jealous of him. He had you and Jem to himself all summer long, while I had to go home the day school was out. There was nobody at home to fool around with.

Summer, and he watched his children's heart break.

L'estate significava per me Dill accanto alla vasca dei pesci che fumava sigarette di canapa; significava gli occhi di Dill che brillavano mentre almanaccava complicati progetti per stanare Boo Radley; l'estate significava Dill che mi baciava, rapido, quando Jem non ci guardava, significava le nostalgie che ciascuno di noi provava e che l'altro intuiva: con lui la vita era normale; senza di lui, insopportabile.

I—it's like this, Scout," he muttered. "Atticus ain't ever whipped me since I can remember. I wanta keep it that way.

Summer was on the way; Jem and I awaited it with impatience. Summer was our best season: it was sleeping on the back screened porch in cots, or trying to sleep in the treehouse; summer was everything good to eat; it was a thousand colors in a parched landscape; but most of all, summer was Dill.

In the dim past, Atticus had owned an old canvas-top touring car, and once when he was taking Jem, Henry, and Jean Louise swimming, the car rolled over a particularly bad hump in the road and deposited Jem without. Atticus drove serenely on until they reached Barker's Eddy, because Jean Louise had no intention of advising her father that Jem was no longer present, and she prevented Henry from doing so by catching his finger and bending it back.

Ne zaman eve dönsem, dünyaya geri döndüÄŸüm duygusuna kap?l?yorum.

I said, you and Jem were very special to me—you were my dream-children, but as Kipling said, that's another story . . . call on me tomorrow, and you'll find me a grave man.

Jean Louise had lost touch with nearly everyone she grew up with and did not wish particularly to rediscover the companions of her adolescence. Her schooldays were her most miserable days, she was unsentimental to the point of callousness about the women's college she had attended, nothing displeased her more than to be set in the middle of a group of people who played Remember Old So-and-So.

Haints, Hot Steams, incantations, secret signs had vanished with our years as mist with sunrise.

He gave us two soap dolls, a broken watch and chain, a pair of good luck pennies, and our lives.

Sitting and listening to people you went to school with is excruciating for an hour. To hear the same conversion day in and day out is better than the Chinese torture method.

Nothing is allowed to die in a society of storytelling people. It is all-the good and the bad-carted up and brought along from one generation to the next. And everything that is brought along is colored and shaped by those who bring it.

Every one of us is losing something precious to us. Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. That's part of what it means to be alive.

Letters are just pieces of paper, I said. Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.

That's what the world is , after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.

Memories and thoughts age, just as people do. But certain thoughts can never age, and certain memories can never fade.

You can hide memories, but you can't erase the history that produced them.

For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a Reserved sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I'd never see her again.

No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.

I'll never see them again. I know that. And they know that. And knowing this, we say farewell.

With my eyes closed, I would touch a familiar book and draw its fragrance deep inside me. This was enough to make me happy.

But you know Hajime, some feelings cause us pain because they remain.