Memories Quotes - Page 30

• My mind swirled with memories of the life I had led. The constant struggle to keep up appearances, the pretenses, the smiles that had been met with tears. The long sleepless nights, the loneliness that cloaked my spirit and turned me into a true ghost.

  Anchee Min

  Loneliness, Struggle, Night

  Anchee Min (2004). “Empress Orchid”, Wheeler Publishing, Incorporated

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• An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Dream, Gold, Littles

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• The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.

  Tim O'Brien

  Inspirational, Dream, Imagination

  Tim O'Brien (2009). “The Things They Carried”, p.218, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Trees for example, carry the memory of rainfal. In their rings we read ancient weather - storms, sunlight and temperatures, the growing seasons of centuries. A forest shares a history which each tree remembers even after it has been felled.

  Anne Michaels

  Weather, Tree, Storm

  Anne Michaels (2009). “Fugitive Pieces”, p.123, A&C Black

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• ...the dark ancestral cave, the womb from which mankind emerged into the light, forever pulls one back - but...you can't go home again...you can't go...back home to the escapes of Time and Memory. You Can't Go Home Again

  Thomas Wolfe

  Home, Dark, Light

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• It had not been a long journey, but the memory of it filled her like an infection. She had felt tethered by time to the city behind her, so that the minutes stretched out taut as she moved away, and slowed the farther she got, dragging out her little voyage.

  China Mieville

  Journey, Cities, Long

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• You and I are like the first two people on earth who at the beginning of the world had nothing to cover themselves with - at the end of it, you and I are just as stripped and homeless. And you and I are the last remembrance of all that immeasurable greatness which has been created in all the thousands of years between their time and ours, and it is in memory of all that vanished splendour that we live and love and weep and cling to one another.

  Boris Pasternak

  Greatness, Years, Two

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• It seems to me, that this, too, is how memory works. What we remember of what was done to us shapes our view, molds us, sets our stance. But what we remember is past, it no longer exists, and yet we hold on to it, live by it, surrender so much control to it. What do we become when we put down the scripts written by history and memory, when each person before us can be seen free of the cultural or personal narrative we've inherited or devised? When we, ourselves, can taste that freedom.

  Rebecca Walker

  Past, Views, Mold

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• A scattered dream that's like a far-off memory... a far-off memory that's like a scattered dream. I want to line the pieces up... yours and mine.

  Shiro Amano

  Dream, Kingdom Hearts, Pieces

  "Kingdom Hearts II". Role-playing Video Game, 2005.

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• Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

  Galway Kinnell

  Love Is, Hands, Giving

  Galway Kinnell (2001). “A New Selected Poems”, p.95, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• The man that I named the Giver passed along to the boy knowledge, history, memories, color, pain, laughter, love, and truth. Every time you place a book in the hands of a child, you do the same thing. It is very risky. But each time a child opens a book, he pushes open the gate that separates him from Elsewhere. It gives him choices. It gives him freedom. Those are magnificent, wonderfully unsafe things. [from her Newberry Award acceptance speech]

  Lois Lowry

  Pain, Laughter, Children

  Lois Lowry, Bagram Ibatoulline (2011). “The Giver”, p.196, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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

  Carl Sandburg

  Break, Claws

  Carl Sandburg (2003). “The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg”, p.36, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• a dream is only a memory of the future

  Steve Erickson

  Dream

  Steve Erickson (1999). “The Sea Came in at Midnight”, Avon Books

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• Poetry is an intimate act. It's about bringing forth something that's inside you--whether it is a memory, a philosophical idea, a deep love for another person or for the world, or an apprehension of the spiritual. It's about making something, in language, which can be transmitted to others--not as information, or polemic, but as irreducible art.

  Dorianne Laux

  Spiritual, Art, Philosophical

  Kim Addonizio, Dorianne Laux (2010). “The Poet's Companion: A Guide to the Pleasures of Writing Poetry”, p.22, W. W. Norton & Company

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• There either is or is not, that’s the way things are. The colour of the day. The way it felt to be a child. The saltwater on your sunburnt legs. Sometimes the water is yellow, sometimes it’s red. But what colour it may be in memory, depends on the day. I’m not going to tell you the story the way it happened. I’m going to tell it the way I remember it.

  Charles Dickens

  Life, Children, Yellow

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• I was of the opinion that the past is past, and like all that is not now it should remain buried along the side of our memories.

  Jonathan Safran Foer

  Past, Sides, Opinion

  "Everything Is Illuminated". www.imdb.com. October 14, 2005.

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• Memories are their own descendents masquerading as the ancestors of the present.

  David Mitchell

  Ancestor

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• Memory really matters...only if it binds together the imprint of the past and the project of the future, if it enables us to act without forgetting what we wanted to do, to become without ceasing to be, and to be without ceasing to become.

  Italo Calvino

  Past, Together, Matter

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• I realized the shells were talking in a voice I recognized. I should have; it was my own. Had I always known that? I suppose I had. On some level, unless we're mad, I think most of us know the various voices of our own imaginations. And of our memories, of course. They have voices, too. Ask anyone who has ever lost a limb or a child or a long-cherished dream. Ask anyone who blames himself for a bad decision, usually made in a raw instant (an instant that is most commonly red). Our memories have voices, too. Often sad ones that clamor like raised arms in the dark.

  Stephen King

  Dream, Children, Dark

  Stephen King (2008). “Duma Key: A Novel”, p.478, Simon and Schuster

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• Relius looked away. "He said that you...cried," he said softly. "But not that he cried as well," said the queen, amused at the memory. "We were very lachrymose... would you like to hear more romance of the evening? He told me the Guard should be reduced by half, and I threw an ink jar at his head." "Is that when he cried?" "He ducked," said Attolia dryly. "I had not pictured you for a fishwife." "Lo, the transforming power of love.

  Megan Whalen Turner

  Queens, Romance, Ink

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• We fell in love, despite our differences, and once we did, something rare and beautiful was created. For me, love like that has only happened once, and that's why every minute we spent together has been seared in my memory. I'll never forget a single moment of it.

  Nicholas Sparks

  Love, Notebook, Beautiful

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• There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.

  Eugene O'Neill

  Time, Future, Past

  Bhagwat S. Goyal, Eugene O'Neill (1975). “The Strategy of Survival: Human Significance of O'Neill's Plays”, Ghaziabad : Vimal Prakashan

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• When I was 14, a camp counselor explained what "eating out" was and I vowed to never have it done to me. It seemed cannibalistic and unhygienic. I also remember that she claimed--in front of an entire cabin of girls--to have been "eaten out" by one of the maintenance men in a hot tub. Under hot water. Either something is amiss in my memory of this conversation or she found the most talented man on the planet and all hope is lost for the rest of us.

  Sloane Crosley

  Girl, Men, Water

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• So many versions of just one memory, and yet none of them were right or wrong. Instead, they were all pieces. Only when fitted together, edge to edge, could they even begin to tell the whole story.

  Sarah Dessen

  Together, Pieces, Stories

  Sarah Dessen (2006). “Just Listen: A Novel”, Viking Childrens Books

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• And never forget, there is memory.

  John Irving

  Never Forget, Forget

  John Irving (1978). “The world according to Garp”, Pocket

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