I blinked and the images were gone. But I remembered how the laugh and the howl and the splash would ripple and echo in the stillness of our lake, and I wondered if ripples and...

The past must remain tangible only from a distance and in its truest form, not appearing anymore precious than it was, lest it make the present unbearable. Memories are only for reminding which must never...

Always take a picture for everywhere you go; if you don’t, then all you just lost was the precious memories and moments

But sometimes the memories feel so real, so visceral, so personal, that I confuse them with my own.

It was one of those rare times when remembering the dead was more inmportant than tending to the needs of the living.

… I believe in some sense much akin to the belief of faith, that I noticed, felt, or underwent what I describe—but it may be that the only reason childhood memories act on us so...

When you travel, take many photographs of the place to have a historical memories of the place.

We spend our lives in the attempt to capture memory forever; to capture moments; to capture Time itself.

For our own part, we learned a great deal about the techniques of love, and because we didn’t know the words to denote what we saw, we had to make up our own. That was...

There is so little to remember of anyone – an anecdote, a conversation at a table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the...

«,Vengarme? ,Venganza? Yo ya tomé la mía. Corté las cabezas de los bandidos que acabaron con mi familia. Las clavé en tres estacas y las miré durante días y días. Y en elvacío y la...

Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.

People often get their imagination’s mixed up with their memories.

Whatever I learned,Whatever I knew,Seems like those faded years of childhood that flew,Away in some dilemma,Always in some confusion,The purpose of this life,Seems like an illusion!

…I recall that day on the beach – the sand so brilliant, the clouds so massive, and the wind punishing your hair…

I also know that I was not the only seeker of the Holy Grail. One day, somebody will be worthy enough. All that is left for me are my memories—the weekend in Faro, when I...

…someone ought to invent a tool, a kind of plane to shave the lies away from stories and deception away from memories. I’m a collector of shavings.

I don’t know why they call it life, it’s just a moment with memories.

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?

You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for… and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you.

Memories, like everything else, are momentary.

Forgetting isn’t enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone?...

Don’t ever feel bad that someone couldn’t give you all of their heart. Be grateful that you can take the least complicated part of their soul with you, wherever you go. This is more than...

I kiss her ghost, and sleep with the dust on her photograph, next to my bedside.

The easiest way to leave the past behind is to remember that love does not live in the past, only memories — love lives in the present.

I don’t know what you’re going through life doing if you’re not really trying to collect some really great memories.

Perhaps it was smartest, after all, to collar your memories and isolate them, sedating the irascible ones, banishing the grotesques, systematizing the rest; maybe coaxing a lion into a wheeled cage on occasion and pulling...

The past is no good if you can’t learn from it; therefore, no sense in dwelling on it.

Truth starts with a sense.

Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.

The ethics of eating people are blurry at best in the fog of my undead amnesia, but I expect more for such a high price. What I want are the moments I will never have....

Looking back into childhood is like turning a telescope the wrong way around. Everything appears in miniature, but with a clarity it probably does not deserve; moreover it has become concentrated and stylized, taking shape...

Songs are memories… Either u smile or get a tear in your eyes..

Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth.

When my grandpa died, I had this same fear. I love Grandpa so much. He was Mom’s dad, and he was my favorite person in the whole world. He lived up north, between Grayling and...

And the pomegranates,/like memories, are bittersweet/as we huddle together,/remembering just how good/life used to be

Memory likes to play hide-and-seek, to crawl away. It tends to hold forth, to dress up, often needlessly. Memory contradicts itself; pedant that it is, it will have its way.

For me, at least, fiction is the only way i can even begin to twist my lying memories into something true.

You can’t burn memories, Jerri. I guess you know that now.

Nebylo tu nic pořádného k snědku, bylo to jenom velké akvárium, jehož stěny tvořily místo skleněných tabulí ze dvou stran břehy, dole písek, a nahoře nebe. A kolem dokola kvetly pomněnky a říkali vzpomínej.

Cassandra wondered at the mind’s cruel ability to toss up flecks of the past. Why, as she neared her life’s end, her grandmother’s head should ring with the voices of people long since gone. Was...

When he opens the door, I step in and an army of memories comes at me from all sides.

power of facing unpleasant facts.” True adulthood begins with doing just that, with renouncing comforting fables. There is something liberating in recognizing ourselves as mammals with some fourscore years (if we’re lucky) to make the...

I’ve played so many matches here and I have so many great memories.

I am beginning to understand the way in which memories hold us, mindfully, to the earth, by the quality of attention paid that they require to be made at all.

After all, isn’t the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?

Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we’re still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our...

Moments fly, memories remain; and then memories fly, only memoirs remain and finally memoirs disappear, nothing remains!

Their memory was something tangible and heavy, and I would carry it with me.

Memories are weird. They never really leave you alone, no matter how much you try, and the funny part is–the more you try, the more they haunt you. The more you want to run away,...