Quotes About Memories

It was in the waiting that a person experienced too much of himself. Memories, doubts, regrets, anxieties, the whole range of possibilities the future contained--they all swirled together in the mind like a soup.

he had a family in Lincoln, all the way clean over in Nebraska. He'd even showed her the pictures in his wallet of his kids, two little boys in baseball uniforms

Maybe that was what getting older taught you, when you looked in the mirror and saw the passage of time in your face, when you looked at your sleeping daughter and saw the girl you once were and would never be again. The world was real and you were in it, a brief part but still a part, and if you were lucky, and maybe even if you weren't, the things you'd done for love would be remembered.

A thousand recollected lives were passing through her, a thousand thousand stories—of love and work, of parents and children, of duty and joy and grief. Beds slept in and meals eaten, and the bliss and pain of the body, and a view of summer leaves from a window on a morning it had rained; the nights of loneliness and the nights of love, the soul in its body's keeping always longing to be known. She

Eustace remembered a day like this one: spring on the cusp of summer, the earth unclenching its fist, thick green leaves, rich with fragrance, fattening the trees. A

Wolgast recalled when he'd come down here with his friends to buy candy and comic books. Back then, a spinning wire rack had stood by the front door: Tales from the Crypt, Fantastic Four, the Dark Knight series, Wolgast's favorite.

He had entered sleep's antechamber, the place where dreams and memories mingled, telling their strange stories; yet part of him was still in the car, listening to the rain.

If things had happened differently, they might have been just like any other brother and sister, their importance to one another fading over time as new connections took precedence. But not the two of them. New people would take the stage, but there would always be a room in their hearts in which only the two of them resided.

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate That Time will come and take my love away.

In a hundred years, you get around to thinking about pretty much everything. All the things you did, the people you knew, the mistakes you made. The books you read, the music you listened to, how the sun felt, the rain. It's all still there inside you. But it's not enough, is it? That's the thing. The past is never enough.

He had entered sleep's antechamber, the place where dreams and memories mingled, telling their strange stories;

Life wrests that feeling from us. Day by day, the sublime glimpses of childhood pass away. It is love, of course, and only love, that restores us to ourselves, or so we hope, but that is taken away. What is left when there is no love?

A thousand recollected lives were passing through her, a thousand stories - of love and work, of parents and children, of duty and joy and grief. Beds slept in and meals eaten, and the bliss and pain of the body, and a view of summer leaves from a window on a morning it had rained; the nights of loneliness and the nights of love, the soul in it's body keeping always longing to be known.

Were you born in a barn? I must have been, mom asked me so often... You would've thought she would know if anyone did!

Mom doing things for herself was the best souvenir we could have brought back from China.

She was not a woman given to physical expressions of affection – although he felt that she cared deeply about the people she loved. One of Laurent's lasting memories of Catherine is her scent, for she always wore Miss Dior – every day, whether she was working in the garden or harvesting her roses.

Buildings aren't homes, Johnelle. People are…and memories, and Ian has plenty of those.

To try and rationalise all this in terms of right, wrong, good, evil, is just naive; the very worst things we do, after all, we do for love, and the very worst pain we feel comes from love. She was right about that. In my opinion, love is the greatest and most enduring enemy, because love gives rise to the memories that kill us, slowly, every day. I think a man who never encounters love might quite possibly live forever. He'd have to, because if he died, who the hell would ever remember him?

All through our lives, there are witnesses - parents, family, friends, people we work with, people we love and who love us, people who hate us and we hate. One by one they die, until the world seems empty, and eventually there are no independent witnesses to testify our crimes and our achievements. Only we remember them, there's nobody to contradict our version. If we want it to be, it can be the truth.

There is only so much one can do for the dead without joining them. The Caravan from Troon

And they served me a lot of free drinks. So I drank a little more than I should have, maybe. So some of what happened I don't remember too well. But there was a lot of shouting." "You must have killed somebody," said Smith. "Yes, I think I did," Lord Eyrdway agreed.

But I have never observed in any one of these other groups quite the spirit of belonging together, quite the urge to reminisce about the days of the laboratory, quite the feeling that this was really the great time of their lives. That this was true of Los Alamos was mainly due to Oppenheimer. He was a leader.

If we were scars, our memories would be the stitches holding us together. You couldn't cut them apart, and if you did, it would tear you in two." "But my memories hurt," she said. "I want to forget. There's so much I just want to forget." "How are you going to do that ? Everything that's happened to you is still happening today. Once something has begun, it doesn't end. There, in your head, it never ends.

Einige Läden verkauften ausschließlich Bücher, die der Kunde als Kind gelesen hatte, und boten eine Geld-zurück-Garantie, wenn sie ihm nicht mehr so gut gefielen wie damals.