Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags

Staring out to sea, I finally forced myself to stop thinking of her as someone still somewhere, if only in memory, still obscurely alive, breathing, doing, moving, but as a shovelful of ashes already scattered;...

I know you’re just a rag doll now, sewn together with memories that we might have had. I know you’re just the dream inside of a dream And don’t worry, I know I don’t know...

Who are we without our memories?

Old age breeds the miracle of recall. You have no short-term memory atall; you can’t remember what you did minutes ago, but you can recall with exquisite clarity what you did on your fifth birthday...

They stared at each other. Every ocean, every river, every minute they had walked together was in their gaze. He said nothing and she said nothing. She kneeled by him, her hands on him, on...

Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…

Sometimes things become possible if we want them bad enough.

The first person who is on your mind the moment you open your eyes after a long sleep is the reason either of your happiness or pain.

To be human is to have a collection of memories that tells you who you are and how you got there.

There were so many of these moments that could never be captured accurately, even in the camcorder, only in the heart.

If you see an old man talking to himself, he might not be a fool or crazy. He might be sharing a conversation with the past, warmed by a memory he need not reveal.

Sometime we must visit old memories to make new ones.

Even now that he is gone I have him still, in the richness of my memories. I’ve lived my life again just telling it to you.

Wish for the best, prepare for the worst

Shapes began to appear in the mist as it thickened. Clary saw herself and Simon as children, holding hands, crossing a street in Brooklyn,; she had barrettes in her hair and Simon was adorably rumpled,...

Die Vergangenheit war wie jene altmodischen, mit Kräutern und Blumen gefüllten Duftkissen, deren Aroma die Kleider durchdringt und an ihnen haften bleibt.

I need a new trick if I am to walk without legs, see without eyes or speak without words.

I could tell you it’s the heart, but what is really killing him is loneliness. Memories are worse than bullets.

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.

These memories sustained him, but not so easily. Too often they reminded him of where he was when he last summoned them. They lay on the far side of a great divide in time, as...

Asides your power, passion and poise, what glues the posters of your impacts on memorial walls is how you treat those you need and those who need you.

Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.

Strange, what brings these past things so vividly back to us, sometimes!

His mind turned, gradually comprehending, memories flooding his awareness that were not his own: memories from the timelessness before the Being within him had fallen into this body; of a Homeworld and a Consortium of...

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

He was on her mind but she doesn’t let anyone stay for too long.

…and realizes how there are all these moments, moments like just this one, there are all these moments, and how everyone lives their lives in these short, all-too-short moments. There are all these moments and...

Every summer, like the roses, childhood returns.

In that moment I understood what they say about nostalgia, that no matter if you’re thinking something good or bad, it always leaves you a little emptier afterward.

It’s neat to be a part of what they are a part of. They have memories that will last a lifetime. It’s something special that they’ll never see again. The memories of them playing together,...

It is…difficult to describe someone, since memories are by their nature fragmented, isolated, and arbitrary as glimpses one has at night through lighted windows.[E]very memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance,...

All are failures makes us change our lives, but changes our will always be in our memories.

Memories are dangerous things. You turn them over and over, until you know every touch and corner, but still you’ll find an edge to cut you.

Time goes on, and your life is still there, and you have to live it. After a while you remember the good things more often than the bad. Then, gradually, the empty silent parts of...

Love happens only once, what happens after that is just compromise; with your heart and with your life…

…strands of your hair and tendrils of the wind spin into nothingness the memories of that day…

Ah God! to see the branches stirAcross the moon at Grantchester!To smell the thrilling-sweet and rottenUnforgettable, unforgottenRiver-smell, and hear the breeze Sobbing in the little trees.Say, do the elm-clumps greatly standStill guardians of that holy...

More we remember more is chance to know who we are….

The palest ink will endure beyond the memories of man

The question is, shall it or shall it not be linear history. I’ve always thought a kaleidoscopic view might be an interesting heresey. Shake the tube and see what comes out. Chronology irritates me. There...

Never let your memories be greater than your dreams.

It’s funny. Looking back, none of it seems to matter now, those moments of yearning, craving to belong with people I thought mattered. No more fragments of glass, pieces of a broken mirror you can’t...

The necklace of life is strung with the pearls of everyday memories; treasure them.

I find myself focusing up at the sky — the only roof left — because too many memories are drowning me.

We don’t have any bad memories of the people of the United States.

The biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured...

Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer–both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.

I want to remember warming your two a.m. bottle, clipping your locks, watching you be baptized, bathing you in the big porcelain sink… how I often laid you against my chest and felt the cradlesong...

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.