Quotes About Memories

I turn my back on him as he goes, and settle myself in the parlor, and touch Ma's piano. My fingers leave sighs in the dust.

Language does this to our memories—simplifies, solidifies, codifies, mummifies. An oft-told story is like a photograph in a family album; eventually, it replaces the moment it was meant to capture.

And there you have it...if I knew that I could only have a few nights in that man's arms or nothing, I would take those magic nights and use them to keep me warm for the rest of my life.

There are men you build a future with, Dani. And then there are men that you know, going in, that you're only making a memory with. I know the difference ..Some memories are worth the price. I'll deal with it.

What no one tells you is that when someone you love dies, you lose them twice. Once to death, the second time to acceptance, and you don't walk that long, dark passage between the two alone. Grief takes every shuffling, unwilling step with you, offering a seductive bouquet of memories that can only blossom south of sanity. You can stay there, nose buried in the petals of the past. But you're never really alive again.

I could see the rage of insatiable uninvited lust in every line of that dark, stoic face that had once been too subtly etched for me to read.I wasn't the only one lying awake at night, fevered with memories, tossing, turning, soaking my sheets, burning up--not for Fae sex, but him, damn it all to hell, him.

They loved so intensely that moments of their life have been etched into the very fabric of the mansion. Some say the king designed it that way, so if one day he lost her he could come live with her residue.

Her absence in my life was so painful that it was a presence.

Yes, I have loved, Ms. Lane, and although it's none of your business, I have lost. Many things.

Do you think love just goes away? Pops out of existence when it becomes too painful or inconvenient, as if you never felt it?

You don't grieve love; you celebrate that you had it.

R-E-G-R-E-T. I can spell that word now. Raw. Endless. Grief. Raining. Eternal. Tears. That's what regret is.

The worst part about losing someone you love—besides the agony of never getting to see them again—are the things you never said. The unsaid stalks you, mocks you for thinking you had all the time in the world. None of us do.

Some memories are worth the price. I'll deal with it.

my hair was a mass of tangled curls just like the old days, minus

Love is funny. Even though you don't have that person anymore, you still have the feeling. You didn't lose your love. You lost the tangible, tactile, sense-sational ability to experience the person or animal you lost. Grief is all about not being able to touch anymore. Not being able to use your senses to experience them on a physical level. They've moved beyond an impenetrable veil, beyond your hands and mouth and eyes.

I'm usually so excited by the life I'm living I forget to take pictures.

You can fall in love again; most people do—but you can never replace a sister.

I don't know where dreams come from. Sometimes I wonder if they're genetic memories, or messages from something divine.

I am stretched on your grave and will lie there forever…

I ordered, Dad paid, just like old times when life was simple, and Daddy was always there to be my Friday night date whenever my latest boyfriend had been a jerk.

knowledge of times gone by

What no one tells you is that when someone you love dies, you lose them twice. Once to death, the second time to acceptance, and you don't walk that long, dark passage between the two alone. Grief takes every shuffling, unwilling step with you, offering a seductive bouquet of memories that can only blossom south of sanity. You can stay there, nose buried in the petals of the past. But you're never really alive again. Spend enough time with ghosts, you become one.

grief's drink recipe is two parts tribute to the person you loved and four parts feeling sorry for yourself because you lost them.