Memories Quotes
Songs and smells will bring you back to a moment in time more than anything else. It's amazing how much can be conjured with a few notes of a song or a solitary whiff of a room.
When everything else crumbles to dust, all we have left are the memories. I thought of Ophelia, wandering the theater, mind half gone...Never shall I cut from memory my sweet love's beauty.
My memories are like a shuffled deck of cards, each one coming up at random.
Memories shrink. Like a soap bar used over and over, they become deformed, weaker scented, too slight and slippery to hold.
When he told it, I remembered. He handed me my past like… like a spear. But I do not know if I should take it. Is it still mine, if I do not want it?
Some memories are presents that I'm unable to unwrap over and over.
It was no use to tell a person to forget. No matter how hard you tried to put it out of your mind, the hurt would still be there, festering under the forgetfulness, sending poison through your veins.
A thousand moments lost because you took them for granted, just because you expected a thousand more.
Memories fall like snowflakes upon my dreams. The snowflakes toss and tumble, each different and yet the same.
Memories vanish when we want to remember, but fix themselves permanently in the mind when we want to forget.
For me, Mama's cabinet had been full of mysteries and secrets to be puzzled out, like an adventure. For them it had been full of memories. And I had broken all of them.
I've been wondering, " Isabelle commented reflectively over dessert, "if it is foolish to make new memories when you know you are going to lose them.
Well, memory can play tricks. Most people, I think, tend to remember the good rather than the bad when someone close to them dies.
Those are exactly the kind of memories I try to avoid, but they're like abestos: invisible and deadly. You need special gear to get rid of them.
You can outrun your memories, but sometime, you will have to stop. And when you do, there will always be Stepmother, waiting to be remembered.
I slipped on a turtleneck, laughing when my head became stuck in the turtle part. If they weren't called turtlenecks, I wouldn't have worn them.
I pretended like all the oranges rolling everywhere were her happy memories and they were looking for a new person to stick to so they didn't get wasted.
She filed those moments away like precious documents, wore them smooth with memory, collected them like bits of prayers.
Now he knew that any memories he might cherish during the last years of his life would be only fictions from a biography he'd never lived.
So, we skipped Annabel, and discussed condoms. I said I liked the orange ones, and we ended our talk in laughter.
Best memories never hurt, with good memories an individual can pass his whole life without depending on others...
I understand that sometimes the only way we can survive our own memories is to shape them into a story that makes sense out of events that seem inexplicable.
You are scared to relive them, the vulnerability of succumbing. So you think to shove them into a box at the back of your closet makes them less of a ticking time bomb?
In going back we must take our present selves with us: the mind has taken a different colour, and this is thrown back upon our past.
Nothing distinguishes memories from ordinary moments, only later do they make themselves known, from their scars.
Sitting next to Tilo, breathing next to her, he felt like an empty house whose locked windows and doors were creaking open a little, to air the ghosts trapped inside it.
Years later, I remember the waxy taste of the yellow paint, the papery taste of splintered wood, the sharp metallic of the graphite.
...and the worse the memory, the stronger its stranglehold on the present.
And they had nothing, except of course memories, their own, and those passed down by their mothers and mothers' mothers. A nation's memory.
Sometimes the memories we cling hardest to are the ones that hurt us the most.
Her grandparents’ house was an old crammed up space just like all the others there, but to Sofia it had the luxuries of a palace and the reverence of a church.
And all these things she always counted on to revisit, they made up a map, the map of a true home. It was the only place where she felt she had an identity and a history behind her.
I had forgotten, I suppose, that there were bright memories in amongst the dark.
Childhood memories surge back more vividly midway through life – like some palimpsest whose original text suddenly reappears after the manuscript has been chemically treated.
I was haunting you, for so long, that I forgot that I became a ghost too.
As I enlarged my vision to see the bigger picture of my dad’s full life, I was better able to let go of being stuck in memories of its end.
Moments don’t last forever, but their memories do.
