Memories Quotes - Page 27

• Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.

  Ann-Marie MacDonald

  Play, Stories, Knees

  Ann-Marie MacDonald (2011). “Fall On Your Knees”, p.255, Simon and Schuster

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• When we die, as when the scenes have been fixed on to celluloid and the scenery is pulled down and burnt — we are phantoms in the memories of our descendants. Then we are ghosts, my dear, then we are myths. But still we are together. We are the past together, we are a distant past. Beneath the dome of the mysterious stars, I still hear your voice.

  Jostein Gaarder

  Stars, Past, Voice

  Jostein Gaarder (2010). “Maya”, p.158, Hachette UK

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• The scene I had just witnessed (a couple making love in the ocean) brought back a lot of memories – not of things I had done but of things I had failed to do, wasted hours and frustrated moments and opportunities forever lost because time had eaten so much of my life and I would never get it back. I envied Yeoman and felt sorry for myself at the same time, because I had seen him in a moment that made all my happiness seem dull.

  Hunter S. Thompson

  Sorry, Couple, Ocean

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• We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.

  Tom Stoppard

  Inspirational, Eye, Bridges

  Tom Stoppard (2007). “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead”, p.61, Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

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• And I began to feel sorry for myself; for so many years, my drawer full of memories had held the same old stories.

  Paulo Coelho

  Sorry, Years, Stories

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• I finally understood that no matter what I did, or who I found, I-he-none of us-would ever be able to win over the memories she had of Dad, memories that soothed her even while they made her sad, because she'd built a world out of them she knew how to survive on even if no one else could.

  Nicole Krauss

  Dad, Winning, World

  Nicole Krauss (2006). “The History of Love: A Novel”, p.181, W. W. Norton & Company

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• Of all the priceless objects left behind, this is what we rescue. These artifacts. Memory cues. Useless souvenirs. Nothing you could auction. The scars left from happiness.

  Chuck Palahniuk

  Useless, Auctions, Scar

  Chuck Palahniuk (2003). “Diary: A Novel”, Doubleday Books

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• It is a triumph of life that old people lose their memories of inessential things.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  People, Triumph, Loses

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• See, as much as you want to hold on to the bitter sore memory that someone has left this world, you are still in it

  Jodi Picoult

  World, Want, Bitter

  Jodi Picoult (2009). “My Sister's Keeper - Movie Tie-In: A Novel”, p.422, Simon and Schuster

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• Each night I lie down in a graveyard of memories. Moonlight spins a shroud about me.

  Jerry Spinelli

  Lying, Night, Moonlight

  Jerry Spinelli (2012). “The Stargirl Collection”, p.138, Knopf Books for Young Readers

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• The more distressing the memory, the more persistent it's presence.

  Sara Gruen

  Persistent, Distressing

  Sara Gruen (2016). “The Sara Gruen Collection: Water for Elephants - At the Water's Edge - Ape House”, p.142, Hachette UK

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• Sometimes grief is a comfort we grant ourselves because it's less terrifying than trying for joy. Nobody wants to admit it. We'd all declare we want to be happy, if we could. So why, then, is pain the one thing we most often hold on to? Why are slights and griefs the memories on which we choose to dwell? Is it because joy doesn't last but grief does?

  Megan Hart

  Pain, Grief, Joy

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• No place worth knowing yields itself at sight, and those the least inviting on first view may leave the most haunting pictures upon the walls of memory.

  Algernon Blackwood

  Wall, Yield, Sight

  Algernon Blackwood (2015). “Algernon Blackwood: Premium 11 Novels Collection (Jimbo, The Education of Uncle Paul, The Human Chord, The Centaur, The Promise of Air, The Garden of Survival, The Bright Messenger and more)”, p.718, e-artnow

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• He poured the tumbler full. Drink up, he said. The world goes on. We have dancing nightly and this night is no exception. The straight and the winding way are one and now that you are here what do the years count since last we two met together? Men's memories are uncertain and the past that was differs little from the past that was not.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Past, Night, Men

  Cormac McCarthy (2015). “Blood Meridian: Picador Classic”, p.348, Pan Macmillan

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• In that book which is my memory, On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.

  Dante Alighieri

  Book, New Life, Pages

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• We studied our angels for a few moments more, looking at where we had lain side by side in that sweet, quiet moment. I wished what I’d said was true, that we had truly left our mark on the mountain. But I knew that after the next snowfall, our angels would disappear into the whiteness and be nothing more than a memory.

  Richelle Mead

  Sweet, Angel, Quiet Moments

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• Just as real events are forgotten, some that never were can be in our memories as if they happened.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Real, Events, Forgotten

  "Gabriel Garcia Marquez: What I've Learned" by Cal Fussman, www.esquire.com. April 18, 2014.

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• If your memory was OK you could descend upon on a bookshop – a big enough one so that the staff wouldn’t hassle a browser – and steal the contents of books by reading them. I drank down 1984 while loitering in the 'O' section of the giant Heffers store in Cambridge. When I was full I carried the slopping vessel of my attention carefully out of the shop.

  Francis Spufford

  Book, Reading, Giants

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• And so I'm me again, Leo. Thanks to the example of a five-year-old. I'm hoping you wouldn't want it any other way. Not that you weren't flattered, right? I mean, to have a girl two thousand miles away going to pieces over you, weeping at the mere memory of you, losing her appetite, losing herself and self-respect - well, that's trophy enough for any guy's ego, huh?

  Jerry Spinelli

  Girl, Mean, Self

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• Like tired dogs they stand there, because they use up all their strength in remaining upright in one's memory.

  Franz Kafka

  Dog, Tired, Use

  Franz Kafka (1965). “The Diaries of Franz Kafka”

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• The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.

  William Butler Yeats

  Confused, Men, Trying

  William Butler Yeats (2015). “When You Are Old: Early Poems, Plays, and Fairy Tales”, p.222, Penguin

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• It was the nature of his profession that his experience with death should be greater than for most and he said that while it was true that time heals bereavement it does so only at the cost of the slow extinction of those loved ones from the heart's memory which is the sole place of their abode then or now. Faces fade, voices dim. Seize them back, whispered the sepulturero. Speak with them. Call their names. Do this and do not let sorrow die for it is the sweetening of every gift.

  Cormac McCarthy

  Heart, Names, Voice

  Cormac McCarthy (2010). “The Crossing”, p.296, Pan Macmillan

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• ...for most people in the [Jewish] Ghetto [of Warsaw] nature lived only in memory -- no parks, birds, or greenery existed in the Ghetto -- and they suffered the loss of nature like a phantom-limb pain, an amputation that scrambled the body's rhythms, starved the senses, and made basic ideas about the world impossible for children to fathom.

  Diane Ackerman

  Children, Pain, Ghetto

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• Simon!” The voice was Clary’s. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind was conjuring it up now, a sense memory of what he’d most loved during life to carry him through the process of death. “Simon, you stupid idiot! I’m over here! At the window!” Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up.

  Cassandra Clare

  Stupid, Voice, Feet

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “City of Glass”, p.265, Simon and Schuster

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• Jace's eyes sparkled, but he said calmly, "Not at all. the Silent Brothers can help her retrieve her memories." "You hate the Silent Brothers," protested Isabelle. "I don't hate them," said Jace candidly."I'm afraid of them. It's not the same thing." "I thought you said they were libarians," said Clary. "They are librarians." Simon whistled. "Those must be some killer late fees.

  Cassandra Clare

  Brother, Hate, Eye

  Cassandra Clare (2007). “City of Bones”, Margaret K. McElderry Books

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