Quotes About Reminiscence

Saniye, tam üç bin alt? yüz kez saatte, F?s?ldar:: An?msa! - Çabuk çabuk, sesiyle Bir böceÄŸin, Åžimdi der: Ben GeçmiÅŸ'im bile, Ä°ÄŸrenç hortumumla emdim ömrünü hatta!

I'd listen to the radio and look at the walls and get drunk enough to almost forget her but then she would return once again.

Se eu nunca ver você de novo Eu sempre vou levar você dentro fora na ponta dos meus dedos e nas bordas do meu cérebro e em centros centros do que eu sou do que restou.

We all reach a point where we would like to draw a line across time and declare everything on the far side null. Shed our past life like a pair of wet and muddy trousers, just roll their heavy clinging fabric down our legs and step away. We also reach a point where we would give the rest of our withering days for the month of July in our seventeenth year. But no thread of Ariadne exists to lead us back there.

Everytime i have turned the page he re-enters my life as awkward as postscript

Ruthie handed me a leather-bound notebook and said she wanted me to fill it with everything I could remember.

Why does the past seem so magical, so fraught, so luminous? At the time it was just, ugh, another boring bloody day. But, to look back on, it's a day full of miracles and light and extraordinary events. Why is this? What process do we apply to the past, to give it this vividness? I don't know.

I really miss a lot of my friends out there.

I miss Broadway, what little there is on Broadway now.

I get little moments all the time, all I want to do is call my mom.

He saw now that you can't go home again--not ever. There was no road back.

You begin to arrange your research in bundles - letters - photos - telegrams. This is that last thing you see before you put on your overcoat: Robert and Rowena with Meg: Rowena seated astride the pony – Robert holding her in place. On the back is written: 'Look! You can see our breath!' And you can.

Holy crap! Your story was so long I forgot the beginning! - Ichigo Kurosaki

He did not remember when everything began to remind him of something else.

He tells another story about all that dust in those days.

Sometimes one gets the feeling that life still thinks it's living in Paris in the '30s.

If a house burns down, it's gone, but the place—the picture of it—stays, and not just in my rememory, but out there, in the world.

One only has a few fragrant nights of spring. Store your memories for when you are old. You will enjoy them again under such a moon as this.

Those cigarettes were beckoning. Come to us, they said. You remember us. I did remember them. My love affair with tobacco had been long and passionate.

I stopped and asked him if he was all right, and he said he was tired of remembering everything he wanted to forget and forgetting everything he wanted to remember.

Sometimes it's enough just to say their names like a rosary, ordinary names linked by nothing but the fact that they belong to men who loved you.

And here I still think of you as the woman I loved more than I've ever loved anyone

every day takes you further from the time he was alive, slicing you with the razor-sharp realization that those days would never be celebrated again.

I should have called Dad more from Africa," Nina said. "I knew how much my phone calls meant to him. I always thought there was time. . . ." "Sometimes the door just slams shut, you know? And you're all by yourself.