Quotes About Memories

Every story is a story about death. But perhaps, if we are lucky, our story about death is also a story about love.

Time doesn't really soften anything. Memories heave up, you know. Still sharp." "Forgetting takes practice," says Enid. "You have to work at it.

But undying memories stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes of doves, calling to each other, fell on her ear, her eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voice saying, Majella!

What we have once enjoyed deeply we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.

Les parfums sont de puissants magiciens pouvant vous transporter au travers des années que vous avez vécues.

I write in order to find out what I truly know and how I really feel about certain things. Writing requires me to go much deeper into my thoughts and memories than conversation does. Writing provides the solitude necessary to reflect on being in this world.

I enjoy writing personal essays in the way of Charles Lamb because it goes back to the school days when I was good in writing essays.

The writing process is more... it becomes a case of more like a diary for me. I mean, I write stuff down all day whenever I'm experiencing something that I think would be important for me to look at later on. You know, whether it be for writing lyrics or just for a memory, like, 'Oh, my gosh, I can't believe I was feeling that way at that time'.

I still connect with original emotions. 'Night Moves' was written about 1961 or 1962 when I was in high school, and it was about what my friends and I did in that period.

The first song that I ever recorded was written by my mother.

I've always traveled with a picture of my daughter from 1989, her kindergarten school picture, that has 'I love you, Daddy' written on it. She's always made fun of me because I never changed that picture out. It's like my resistance to her getting older. It was the first thing she'd ever written to me and it means the world to me.

History is only written from what remains.

Words played an important part in my growing up. Not only the written word... but words that flew through the air: jokes, riddles, puns.

There's nothing wrong with celebrating the good things in our past. But memories, like witnesses, do not always tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We need to cross-examine them, recognizing and accepting the inconsistencies and gaps in those that make us proud and happy as well as those that cause us pain.

Childhood was very nice. The only thing wrong was that I was so introverted, everything became a big deal... 'Oh, no, here comes the bus. Where am I gonna sit on the bus?'

I've known Emma Watson since she was 9, we've watched each other grow up, formed this sort of brother/sister bond, and suddenly I'm leaning in to kiss her. Well, it felt completely wrong... but, you know, you try to sink into the character and divorce yourself from it. We ended up laughing hysterically afterwards.

I don't think there is ever a wrong time to sit down and listen to your grandparents' stories.

I lost three cousins and a best friend, and they all came at the wrong time. Everyone told me to be strong and that they were in a better place. But I didn't want to hear that. They were gone and I will never see them again.

I never liked talking about myself or my background because I hated bringing back bad memories. And sometimes when I talked, it would come out the wrong way, and I'd look like a jerk. That's why I became an enigma to people.

I watched 'Free Willy' probably 100 times. I nearly wore out the VHS tape. That movie was my introduction to Michael Madsen. When I finally saw 'Reservoir Dogs', I was like, 'That's the guy from 'Free Willy'!' - which is probably the wrong way around.

'Spring Day' - I wrote main lyrics based on my personal experience with old friends. It is about my sad memories with him, and it makes me sentimental whenever I listen to the song.

I have some fond memories - a couple of the nights on the town ... a couple of songs I wrote when I was messed up that I'm sure wouldn't have come out of me unless I was messed up. It's kind of happy-sad about those days - I could do anything I wanted to. I did. And now I don't want to do any of that.

I had a friend who worked at a hospice, and he said people in their final moments don't discuss their successes, awards or what books they wrote or what they accomplished. They only talk about their loves and their regrets, and I think that's very telling.

For some reason, I wrote about the bed we slept in when I was a kid. It was a half-acre of misery, that bed, sagging in the middle, red hair sticking out of the mattress, the spring gone and the fleas leaping all over the place.