Quotes About Memories

Remember the memories.

Mom?" I whispered. I hadn't said it in so long. When death takes your mother, it steals that word forever

we embrace our scars more than our healing...We can recall the exact day we got hurt, but who remembers the day the wound was gone?

And one day spent with someone you love can change everything. I

When someone passes, Benjamin, people always ask, 'Why did God take them?' A better question would be 'Why did God give them to us?' What did we do to deserve their love, their joy, the sweet moments we shared? Didn't you have such moments with Annabelle?

Have you ever lost someone you love and wanted one more conversation, one more chance to make up for the time when you thought they would be here forever? If so, then you know you can go your whole life collecting days, and none will outweigh the one you wish you had back. What if you got it back?

When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.

As we look back on things, what haunts us the most is not the struggle. Not the disease. The fact that the years pass and we say, Chika would have been eight or Chika would have been nine, or, one day, Chika would be in college now, drinking coffee. It's not the time she spent battling we lament. It's the growing up she missed. The time she didn't get. The future she never saw. That still seems so unfair.

Kematian mengakhiri hidup, bukan hubungan.

Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother's approval, a father's nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives

I split my adolescence between the pulpy smell of books, which was my mother's passion, and the leathery smell of baseball gloves, which was my father's.

But life is not a board game, and losing a loved one is never really "starting over." More like "continuing without.

My dad barely moved. He never asked what happened. But to this day, I can still feel his waist in my wet grip, and the comfort it gave me. For many years, that was my peception of fatherhood, a place where a child can find sanctuary. Perhaps this is why I took over the orphanage. Perhaps I've grown into my father that way.

When someone passes, Benjamin, people always ask, 'Why did God take them?' A better question would be 'Why did God give them to us?' What did we do to deserve their love, their joy, the sweet memories we shared?

I collected the papers, wrapped them back in the rubber band, and felt a small grief, like a person who discovers, upon returning from a trip, that something has been left behind and there is no way now to retrieve it.

Nothing haunts like the things we don't say.

Mistakes were mistakes, and failures were failures. Why torment someone with memories of their past?

brother had done. He pushes the boots to one side and

Some of my relatives held on to imagined memories the way homeless people hold onto lottery tickets. Nostalgia was their crack cocaine, if you will, and my childhood was littered with the consequences of their addiction : unserviceable debts, squabbles over inheritances, the odd alcoholic or suicide.

We are all refugees from our childhoods. And so, we turn, among other things, to stories.

Both would also wonder if this meant that they had made a mistake, that if they had but waited and watched their relationship would have flowered again, and so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born.

most of the battle. We are all refugees from our childhoods. And so we turn, among other things, to stories. To write a story, to read a story, is to be a refugee from the state of refugees.

if they had but waited and watched their relationship would have flowered again, and so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born. Jealousy

Lina bolted up in the morning, thinking she'd slept in. She pined for regular days, which used to include heat, bees, a messy room, songs, a crush. Now she would never have them again.