Quotes About Memories

A tire swing?

I saw my father's wooden filing cabinet, his framed diplomas stacked on top of it, just as they'd been brought from his office. In that cabinet lay records of the colds, cut fingers, cancers, broken bones, mumps, diphtheria, births and deaths of a large part of Mill Valley for over two generations. Half the patients listed in those files were dead now, the wounds and tissue my father had treated only dust.

And the story of love is a long sad tale ending in graves.

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all

I'll go to the south of Sicily in the winter, and paint memories of Arles – I'll buy a piano and Mozart me that – I'll write long sad tales about people in the legend of my life – This part is my part of the movie, let's hear yours

And I go home having lost her love. And write this book.

Of course world travel isn't as good as it seems, it's only after you've come back from all the heat and horror that you forget to get bugged and remember the weird scenes you saw

Back in the cabin I light the fire and sit sighing and there are leaves skittering on the tin roof, it's August in Big Sur --- I fall asleep in the chair and when I wake up I'm facing the thick little tangled woods outside the door and I suddenly remember them from long ago

Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain." Jack Kerouac

The inside of the cabin with the fire finally going is still the dear lovable abode now as sharp in my mind as I look at it as an unusually well focused snapshot---The sprig of ferns still stands in a glass of water, the books are there, the neat groceries ranged along the wall shelves

Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.

The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.

I dunno, remember when we were in East St. Louis with George, and Jack you said you'd love those beautiful dancing girls if you knew they would live forever as beautiful as they are? (p. 173)

So you're leaving, Yo." We called each other Yo.

O sweetheart and okay Here's hopin we'll all be away It was great fun But it was just one a those tings

For the first four years of my life, while he lived, I was not Ti Jean Duluoz, I was Gerard, the world was his face, the flower of his face, the pale stooped disposition, the heartbreakingness and the holiness and his teachings of tenderness to me, and my mother constantly reminding me tonpay attention to his goodness and advice.

Ordinarily the death of a cat means little to most men, a lot to fewer men, but to me, and that cat, it was exactly and no lie and sincerely like the death of my little brother - I loved Tyke with all my heart

Nos volvimos tras una docena de pasos, porque el amor es triste, y nos miramos por última vez.

Memories and dreams are intermixed in this mad universe

All I hope, Dean, is someday we'll be able to live on the same street with our families and get to be a couple of oldtimers together.

Vou para o sul da Sicília no inverno e pintar lembranças de Arles – Vou comprar um piano e me mozartear – vou escrever histórias tristes e compridas sobre pessoas na lenda da minha vida.

I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.

Because in the end, you won't remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain

The worst is missing them, you know? And knowing they won't be back again. Just knowing that. Sometimes you forget and it's as though they're on vacation or something and you think, gee, I wish they'd call. You miss them. You forget they're really gone. You forget the past six months even happened. Isn't that weird? Isn't that crazy? Then you catch yourself . . . and it's real again.