Quotes About Memories

Take it as a token. Because tomorrow when I go, I want you to believe friends are possible.

How will you be remembered? As a loner and a loser.

I hope they remember the good stuff, when I was a baby, a toddler, when they still had hopes and dreams for their little girl, their miracle child. In truth they were good to me. They were only doing what they knew how to do; what they thought was best.

Most of all I'm mad at Swanee for dying and taking from me the most precious thing I ever owned. I didn't own her, but she was mine. Mine, Liana. Do you hear me?

Cause at the end of the day, honestly, at the end of the day when you're in your death bed and that's it, I think it's the relationships you've had and the people that you've touched and the people that have touched you that matter.

My dad didn't drive - the only dad I knew who didn't.

He's dead, Jim,

Still, who, I wondered, owns the disappearing story that, in, part, they tell? The story of the teacher and the children lives now in so few places: on that weather-beaten wall, in scrapbooks filled with photographs. History isn't a sculptured cup; it's more like a sieve through which so many stories pass and disappear.

But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall. They hold in their creases the ability to change one's life, organically, forever. Even when you shake them out, they've left permanent wrinkles in the fabric of your soul.

But the memories that hang heaviest are the easiest to recall.

But if they've helped form you into who you are, then they never really leave you; they're always with you in whatever you do, and maybe that's the point.

People say time heals wounds, but they are wrong. It doesn't heal at all. You just learn to live with it. When she died, we lost a part of our hearts.

It's true what they say: Time flies when you're having fun.

Or maybe, it's just gone. Sometimes things disappear and there's no getting them back. That's just how it is.

quando me passeio por Passy parece-me que deambulo por dentro de mim mesmo e que tropeço incessantemente na minha infância.

Los cronopios, en cambio, esos seres desordenados y tibios, dejan los recuerdos sueltos por la casa, entre alegres gritos, y ellos andan por el medio y cuando pasa corriendo uno, lo acarician con suavidad y le dicen: 'No vayas a lastimarte', y también: 'Cuidado con los escalones'.

No hay más que los momentos en que estamos con ese otro cuya vida creemos entender, o cuando nos hablan de él, o cuando él nos cuenta lo que le ha pasado o proyecta ante nosotros lo que tiene intención de hacer. Al final queda un álbum de fotos, de instantes fijos: jamás el devenir realizándose ante nosotros, el paso del ayer al hoy, la primera aguja del olvido en el recuerdo.

Al despedirnos éramos como dos chicos que se han hecho estrepitosamente amigos en una fiesta de cumpleaños y se siguen mirando mientras los padres los tiran de la mano y los arrastran, y es un dolor dulce y una esperanza, y se sabe que uno se llama Tony y la otra Lulú, y basta para que el corazón sea como una frutilla, y...

pero la Maga sufría de verdad cuando regresaba a sus recuerdos y a todo lo que oscuramente necesitaba pensar y no podía pensar, entonces había que besarla profundamente

En fin, vamos a ver: tu vida, ¿es una unidad para vos? —No, no creo. Son pedazos, cosas que me fueron pasando.

Y diré las palabras que se dicen, y comeré las cosas que se comen, y soñaré las cosas que se sueñan, y sé muy bien que no estarás.

Casi no queda nada; sí, el amor vergonzoso entrando en los buzones para llorar, o andando solo por las esquinas (pero lo ven igual) guardando sus objetos dulces, sus fotos y leontinas y pañuelitos guardándolos en la región de la vergüenza, la zona de bolsillo donde una pequeña noche murmura entre pelusas y monedas.

There's not a place like home

Entonces está el amanecer y una fría soledad en la que caben la alegría, los recuerdos, usted y acaso tantos más.