Memories Quotes - Page 32

• There was no God in his heart, he knew; his ideas were still in riot; there was ever the pain of memory; the regret for his lost youth-yet the waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul, responsibility and a love of life, the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealized dreams...... And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while, why he had determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed... He stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. I know myself," he cried, "but that is all.

  F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Dream, Pain, Regret

  F. Scott Fitzgerald (2016). “This Side of Paradise”, p.222, Xist Publishing

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• Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it.

  Marilynne Robinson

  Loss

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• memory is the only way home.

  Terry Tempest Williams

  Home, Way, Way Home

  Terry Tempest Williams (2015). “Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place”, p.4, Vintage

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• If she possessed any memory whatsoever of the days when she'd been whole, her shattered recollections were scattered across the darkscape of her mind in fragments so minuscule that she could no more easily piece them together than she could gather from the beach all the tiny chips of broken seashells, worn to polished flakes by ages of relentless tides, and reassemble them into their original architectures.

  Dean Koontz

  Beach, Broken, Mind

  Dean Koontz (2007). “One Door Away from Heaven: A Novel”, p.145, Bantam

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• What sticks to memory, often, are those odd little fragments that have no beginning and no end.

  Tim O'Brien

  Littles, Sticks, Odd

  Tim O'Brien (2009). “The Things They Carried”, p.34, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Rather than dwelling on the past, we should make the most of today, of the here and now, doing all we can to provide pleasant memories for the future…If you are still in the process of raising children be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled, will disappear all too soon, and that you will, to your surprise, miss them, profoundly.

  Thomas S. Monson

  Children, Past, Dwelling

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• Memory is the only afterlife I have ever believed in. But the forgetting inside us cannot be stopped. We are programmed to betray.

  Michael Ignatieff

  Afterlife, Forget, Betray

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• Near this spot are deposited the remains of one who possessed beauty without vanity, strength without insolence, courage without ferocity, and all the virtues of man, without his vices. This praise, which would be unmeaning flattery if inscribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the memory of Botswain, a dog.

  Lord Byron

  Dog, Men, Vanity

  George Gordon Byron, “Epitaph To A Dog”

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• If I just concentrate I can walk into memory's store and find the right shelf with the right film and disappear into it.

  Per Petterson

  Film, Disappear, Stores

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• Sitting in the flickering light of the candles on this kerchief of sand, on this village square, we waited in the night. We were waiting for the rescuing dawn - or for the Moors. Something, I know not what, lent this night a savor of Christmas. We told stories, we joked, we sang songs. In the air there was that slight fever that reigns over a gaily prepared feast. And yet we were infinitely poor. Wind, sand, and stars. The austerity of Trappists. But on this badly lighted cloth, a handful of men who possessed nothing in the world but their memories were sharing invisible riches.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Song, Stars, Night

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• History with its flickering lamp stumbles along the trail of the past, trying to reconstruct its scenes, to revive its echoes, and kindle with pale gleams the passion of former days. What is the worth of all this? The only guide to a man is his conscience; the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions. It is very imprudent to walk through life without this shield, because we are so often mocked by the failure of our hopes and the upsetting of our calculations; but with this shield, however the fates may play, we march always in the ranks of honor.

  Winston Churchill

  Passion, Fate, Past

  Winston Churchill, David Cannadine (1989). “Blood, Toil, Tears, and Sweat: The Speeches of Winston Churchill”, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow. It's about sisters who never write back and people who never listen.

  Tim O'Brien

  War, Writing, Rivers

  Tim O'Brien (2009). “The Things They Carried”, p.81, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.

  Herman Melville

  Believe, Looks, Down And

  Herman Melville (1892). “Moby Dick”, p.460

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• Anyone who can read history with both hemispheres of the brain knows that a world comes to an end every instant--the waves of time leave washed up behind themselves only dry memories of a closed & petrified past--imperfect memory, itself already dying & autumnal. And every instant also gives birth to a world--despite the cavillings of philosophers & scientists whose bodies have grown numb--a present in which all impossibilities are renewed, where regret & premonition fade to nothing in one presential hologrammatical psychomantric gesture.

  Hakim Bey

  Regret, Past, Giving

  Hakim Bey (2003). “T.A.Z.: The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism”, p.34, Autonomedia

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• Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.

  William Butler Yeats

  Inspirational, Daughter, Art

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

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• Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Opportunity, Men, Mirrors

  FaceBook post by Gabriel García Márquez from Jun 16, 2013

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• God isn't the son of Memory; He's the son of Immediate Experience. You can't worship a spirit in spirit, unless you do it now. Wallowing in the past may be good literature. As wisdom, it's hopeless. Time Regained is Paradise Lost, and Time Lost is Paradise Regained. Let the dead bury their dead. If you want to live at every moment as it presents itself, you've got to die to every other moment.

  Aldous Huxley

  Son, Past, Literature

  Aldous Huxley, Huxley trusts and heirs (2013). “The Genius and the Goddess: A Novel”, p.12, Harper Collins

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• So the days, the last days, blow about in a memory, hazy autumnal, all alike as leaves: until a day unlike any other I've lived

  Truman Capote

  Blow, Lasts, Hazy

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• What does it mean to be born? After we die, will it be the same thing as it was before we were born? Or a different kind of nothingness? Because there might be knowledge then. Memory.

  Joyce Carol Oates

  Mean, Doe, Different

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• Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.

  Ellen Hopkins

  Rainbow, Cameras, Lenses

  Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Impulse”, p.21, Simon and Schuster

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• They laughed much harder than the memory was funny because it felt good to laugh.

  Shannon Hale

  Laughing, Harder, Felt

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• I didn't remember what month that was, or what year even. I only knew the memory lived in me, a perfectly encapsulated morsel of a good past, a brushstroke of color on the gray, barren canvas that our lives had become.

  Khaled Hosseini

  Past, Color, Years

  Khaled Hosseini (2011). “The Kite Runner: Rejacketed”, p.107, A&C Black

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• I was remembering the things we had done together, the times we had had. It would have been pleasant to preserve that comradeship in the days that came after. Pleasant, but alas, impossible. That which had brought us together had gone, and now our paths diverged, according to our natures and needs. We would meet again, from time to time, but always a little more as strangers; until perhaps at last, as old men with only memories left, we could sit together and try to share them.

  John Christopher

  Men, Trying, Together

  John Christopher (2013). “The Pool of Fire”, p.134, Simon and Schuster

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• Values are like fingerprints. Nobody's are the same, but you leave 'em all over everything you do

  Elvis Presley

  Change, Wisdom, Integrity

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• But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated - not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

  Rohinton Mistry

  Pain, Sadness, Joy

  Rohinton Mistry (2008). “A Fine Balance”, p.337, Faber & Faber

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