Quotes About Reflection

why people travel far from home-far from where they started. There was, of course, the obvious reason:escape. Escape from the monotony of every day. SO many of us chasing what we wished our everyday existence could be instead. But there was a less obvious and perhaps more important reason. Somewhere, often right in the middle of a trip, you got to believe this was your everyday life. You got to believe you were never going home again.

This was something we sometimes did on days we got home late—on days we were too tired to get into the big stuff. We each picked one thing from the day to tell each other about. One good thing from our separate lives.

weekend ritual to sit on the bench together, drinking our morning coffee.

Growing up is never idyllic, is it? Or it'd be called something else.

Be careful what you give up.

It leaves you in the same strange place, trying to figure out how to navigate the world without the most important person watching.

I'd want to remember how I had felt sitting here—to take it with me, this sense of relief I knew we were both feeling, the quietly growing momentum that eventually I'd understand comes from letting go of the things you were holding on too tightly to in the first place.

I'll have my first still moment to think about myself. To think about what I've lost, what I'll never have back. To think only of myself. And of Owen, of what I've lost- what I'm still losing- without him.

When the world goes quiet again, it will take everything I am not to allow the grief of his loss to level me.

É terrível saber tudo sobre alguém quando já não queremos saber nada sobre ela há muito tempo.

We only really remember things for five years. After that, what we remember, what's actually etched in our brain is our memory of the thing, not the thing itself. And five years after that, what's left is our memory of the memory.

She has learned, over time, that the way someone laughs often mirrors who they are. How they are.

another small reminder how lucky I was to love him.

I'd been wrong about the ways we move past the versions of ourselves that no longer fit. I'd thought it involved running, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you, from your former selves. I didn't understand that was the surest way to wind up exactly where you started. 44 In the morning, I looked out the window, feeling foggy and damp, like I'd had a bottle of wine the night before.

He raised a glass to them and said, wherever they were, he was grateful to them for not being what I needed, so he got to be the one sitting across from me.

I was suddenly and completely inundated by it. What had been lost in losing him.

every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

Wasn't that the gift of a home? You looked at it the same way, but then when you needed it to, it showed you all over again the many ways you'd been during the time that you had been living there. The many ways it had brought you back to yourself.

That's the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again.

The part where you need to choose among the choices that are there, and not the ones that aren't anymore. At least not how you need them to be. You're still stuck on some imaginary idea you have of how it could have been. You need to think about how it is now. And how you want it to be.

Then he stands up and starts to head out, the way he came. And it's then that he says the one thing that only he would say to me. "The could-have-been boys still love you," Owen says. He isn't looking at me when he says it, his voice low. The way you say hello. The way you say goodbye.

I'd remember Matt, and I'd remember him wrong. And that was probably when I'd miss him most.