Quotes About Reminiscence

I almost said—trying to find some casual remark—'I wonder sometimes what has become of the little McCoo girl, did she ever get better?'—but stopped in time lest she rejoin: 'I wonder sometimes what has become of the little Haze girl . . .

He tried to recall his best moments with her, but those moments were poisoned forever.

What's so awful is that one can't tear up the past by its roots. One can't tear it out, but one can hide one's memory of it.

But that mimosa grove--the haze of stars, the tingle, the flame, the honey-dew, and the ache remained with me, and that little girl with her seaside limbs and ardent tongue haunted me ever since--until at last, twenty-four years later, I broke her spell by incarnating her in another.

Uncle Dan was feeding.

Sin embargo, y a pesar de mi añoranza y mis buenos deseos, mi ultimo pensamiento es, inevitablemente, para él. Angelo...

No hay nada como estar lejos del hogar para descubrir cuanto lo añoras.

When she turned at the sound of his calling her name, he felt the world tilt a little sideways, and he knew that even if a decade passed before he saw her again, he would still remember every detail of her face—the exact blue of her eyes and the luminous glow of her skin and the delicate arch of her brow. Worse, he suspected he'd still feel the same sensations a decade from now—a dry throat, a pounding heart, and an inability to say a single word.

For some life lasts a short while, but the memories it holds last forever.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

yeah. his name was Bill,

But those words had haunted James. How they must have wound around his heart, binding tighter over the years, slicing into the flesh.

He has almost forgotten what it felt like. To touch her. To be forgiven even just this much

she returns in sudden flashes. Like scraps of half-remembered dreams.

Ac? haf?zay? çatlat?yor. Ve buharla??yor hat?ralar.

Un passato deve essere tanto familiare da poterlo rivivere meccanicamente e tanto inaspettato da farci stupire ogni volta che vi ritorniamo: allora è adatto alla fantasia.

I would give most anything to hear my father's talk again, the crash and bang and stop of his language, always hurtling by. I will listen for him forever in the streets of this city.

One of my earliest childhood memories is getting birdshot picked out of my backside by my mother, Mary. My mother would say, "Tom, how come I'm always picking this stuff out of Francis's behind?" My father, who always called her Mame, would say, "Because the boy doesn't run fast enough, Mame." I get my size

The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen as children always do I believe when we go back to them

We'll start to forget a place once we left it

Let me remember how it used to be, and bring one morning back again.

and I fancied I was little Pip again.

Little Dorrit would often ride out in a hired carriage that was left them, and alight alone and wander among the ruins of old Rome. The ruins of the vast old Amphitheatre, of the old Temples, of the old commemorative Arches, of the old trodden highways, of the old tombs, besides being what they were, to her were ruins of the old Marshalsea—ruins of her own old life—ruins of the faces and forms that of old peopled it—ruins of its loves, hopes, cares, and joys.

The beer has reminded me that I forgot.