Quotes About Memories

Aguja era Robb, Bran, Rickon, su madre y su padre, hasta Sansa. Aguja era los muros grises de Invernalia y las risas de sus habitantes. Aguja era las nieves del verano, los cuentos de la Vieja Tata, el árbol corazón con sus hojas rojas y su rostro aterrador, el cálido olor a tierra de los jardines de cristal, el sonido del viento del norte contra los postigos de su habitación. Aguja era la sonrisa de Jon Nieve»

Then the trees closed in around her, black as pitch and full of ghosts and memories.

Stories wait, my little lord, and when you come back to them, why, there they are

Pourquoi ? demanda-t-il à l'armurier. Que suis-je pour eux ? — Un chevalier qui s'est souvenu de ses vœux.

They had found two of his uncle's men in the wood, slain, but the corpses had risen in the chill of night. Jon's burnt fingers twitched as he remembered. He still saw the wight in his dreams, dead Othor with the burning blue eyes and the cold black hands,

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have. She had seen Jeyne Poole giving him moist-eyed glances, and some of the serving girls, even ones as old as eighteen . . . he had ridden in battle and killed men with a sword, surely he had been kissed. There were tears in her eyes. She wiped them away angrily.

Promise me, Ned, she had whispered.

He thought of the promises he'd made Lyanna as she lay dying, and the price he'd paid to keep them.

Algunas heridas no llegan a cerrarse jamás, y sangran de nuevo a la menor mención.

Then Lord Eddard is a man in ten thousand. Most of us are not so strong. What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms... Or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.

He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night.

The old wounds never heal.

In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya.

The dung made him think of his lord father.

I know every book of mine by its smell, and I have but to put my nose between the pages to be reminded of all sorts of things.

The difficulty, after having the experience to symbolize, lies only in having enough imagination to suspend it in a thought; and further to give this thought such verbal expression that others may be able to decipher it, and to be stirred by it as by a wind of suggestion sweeping the whole forest of their memories.

Of all the songs I've recorded, 'Amarillo By Morning' always sticks out in my mind.

Life is not the breaths you take but the moments that take your breath away.

Life is not breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

Life's not the breath you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

Live's not the breathes you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

Years later, the trauma of those experiences continued to haunt me. Most Japanese Americans from my parents' generation didn't like to talk about the internment with their children. As with many traumatic experiences, they were anguished by their memories and haunted by shame for something that wasn't their fault. Shame is a cruel thing. It should rest on the perpetrators but they don't carry it the way the victims do.

As with many traumatic experiences, they were anguished by their memories and haunted by shame for something that wasn't their fault. Shame is a cruel thing. It should rest on the perpetrators but they don't carry it the way victims do.

I'm talking like 10, 12 years old. Either junior brings Mom and Pop or Mom and Pop bring the kids. I'm talking young here, not a college drinking crowd.