Sometimes memories follow you wherever you go-you don’t need to take them with you.

Thoughtful for Winter’s future sorrow,Its gloom and scarcity;Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,Toiled quiet Memory.’Tis she that from each transient pleasureExtracts a lasting good;’Tis she that finds, in summer, treasureTo serve for winter’s food.And when Youth’s...

To remember is to disengage from the present.

I hate my body Hate what it remembers. Hate what it let him do.

Memories are either the greatest poetry, when they are memories of a vital happiness, or a burning pain, when they touch dried wounds.p. 479

She didn’t want to forget how deeply she had loved him, how important it had been to her; she felt as if to discard the memory would be a betrayal of her younger self.

Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes...

You can hide memories, suppress them, but you can’t erase the history that produced them

In our lives are special moments that live as their own, the rest is movement with the passage of time.

But she knew that no matter what beauty lay behind, it must remain there. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories.

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Your body and mind will just give way. Part of you may want to blissfully fade into nothing, but you never do. After a while all the memories and...

You are alone”Rose colored memories drown,taking their last breath.

The death of a parent, he wrote, ‘despite our preparation, indeed, despite our age, dislodges things deep in us, sets off reactions that surprise us and that may cut free memories and feelings that we...

Better to leave with good memories than have the last ones be the embarrassing, smoking ruin of what once had been a fantastic friendship.

Honor LostAmbulant sunshine piercedthe soot covered glass ~the feeble man wandered byin this ritual morning pass …

I have a lot of great memories playing in Moscow,

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; its memoried glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious.

There are edges around the black and every now and then a flash of color streaks out of the gray. But I can never really grasp any of the slivers of memories that emerge.

How strange it is, sometimes, which conversations or events stays with us while so much else melts as fast as April snow.

This was me before I knew about anything hard, when my whole life was packed lunches and art projects and spelling quizzes.

Depression is a red herring,” said Nariman. “I think a lot about the past, it’s true. But at my age, the past is more present than the here and now. and there is not much...

There were a story scripted on the wall, no words used though, just pictures, memories, from another world. Her happy place.

There are things without explanation, moments when life will become arranged in such odd ways that you imagine a whole vocabulary of meaning inside them. The breakfast smell struck me like that.

Times like this were special. Memory builders. When something extraordinary happened to a person the kind of things remembered forever after it didn’t have to be a life-changing event like a graduation or marriage or...

we always knewthat good times camewith termination contractseven if we weren’t quite readyto sign it.

Pictures … flashed on her in sudden color, too much color, shocking color, the color that leaps out of black when lightning strikes at night.

I’m so careless that now i don’t even care if i cared for you.

Yes, you are right! I am your leftover trash. I hope you know a bum got to eat too. I believe you were one when I met you.

She had never had a daydream that dreamed itself, like nightmares. That crawled out of her brain like a creature of the dark. A daymare.

Not very long ago I was driving with my husband on the back roads of Grey County, which is to the north and east of Huron County. We passed a country store standing empty at...

Sometimes it’s more painful to draw to mind the good times

I have several memories of playing outside in the garage against them, basically them beating me down until I cried, but it worked out. It all paid off.

Perhaps memory is a thing that everyone involved has to work at, like stitching up a big quilt out of everything that ever happened to you.

Mi sa che è questo il mio limite: mi mancano le conclusioni, nel senso che ho l’impressione che niente finisca mai veramente. Io vorrei, vorrei davvero che i dispiaceri scaduti, le persone sbagliate, le risposte...

When you touch a man’s heart, he will remember it forever.

Nay! Alas for us all! And for all that walk in the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is...

I don’t think I remember my first memory

I couldn’t tell what colour her eyes were. They were wet and dark and shining, like pools of deep, still water. For a second I thought I could see pictures in them, like I was...

Toy is talking and this is why I love her. She can go on about herself ceaselessly and like the scratching of a branch against the window at night, the steady insistence of it is...

She has never tried to find out what happened to her family — her mother or her relatives in Ireland. But over and over, Molly begins to understand as she listens to the tapes, Vivian...

No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.

Sometimes I dream that I’m writing a memoir. A memoir would just be the thing to keep me in the hearts and memories of my adoring public.

No skill is more crucial to the future of a child than literacy.

The feelings resembled memories; but memories of what? Apparently one can remember things that have never happened.

It is stronge how smells can bring back vivid memories.

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.

We humans are different – our brains are built not to fix memories in stone but rather to transform them, our recollections in their retelling.

Where would we be in this soulless universe if there weren’t a few people who hold on to memories, their hearts yearning for long-lost feelings?

It’s sad when the people you love most become a bitter memory.

I try not to remember them but very often memories force themselves on my consciousness; they are like stubborn relatives who invite themselves over even when you’ve made it clear that they are unwelcome.