Memories Quotes - Page 35

• Why? Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths? Why does the memory of years of happy marriage turn to gall when our partner is revealed to have had a lover all those years? Because such a situation makes it impossible to be happy? But we were happy! Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily. Because happiness is only real if it lasts forever? Because things always end painfully if they contained pain, conscious or unconscious, all along? But what is unconscious, unrecognized pain?

  Bernhard Schlink

  Beautiful, Pain, Real

  FaceBook post by Bernhard Schlink from Dec 31, 2013

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• So now she and I are friends - not with benefits, but memories.

  Sara Ryan

  Benefits

  Sara Ryan (2009). “Rules for Hearts”, p.125, Penguin

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• Talk—half-talk, phrases that had no need to be finished, abstractions, Chinese bells played on with cotton-tipped sticks, mock orange blossoms painted on porcelain. The muffled, close, half-talk of soft-fleshed women. The men she had embraced, and the women, all washing against the resonance of my memory. Sound within sound, scene within scene, woman within woman—like acid revealing an invisible script. One woman within another eternally, in a far-reaching procession, shattering my mind into fragments, into quarter tones which no orchestral baton can ever make whole again.

  Anais Nin

  Men, Orange, Chinese

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• He would wake for no reason in the middle of the night, and the memory of the self-absorbed love was revealed to him for what it was: a pitfall of happiness that he despised and desired at the same time, but from which it was impossible to escape.

  Gabriel Garcia Marquez

  Night, Self, Pitfalls

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• That was what she really wanted. To forget so thoroughly she'd never have another memory again, the bitter so bitter you gave up the sweet.

  Janet Fitch

  Sweet, Bitter, Forget

  Janet Fitch (2006). “Paint It Black: A Novel”, p.189, Hachette UK

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• Good memories are like charms...Each is special. You collect them, one by one, until one day you look back and discover they make a long, colorful bracelet.

  James Patterson

  Life, Special You, Long

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• Of her own experience she had no memory of the thing happening; but in her instinct, which was the experience of all mothers of wolves, there lurked a memory of fathers that had eaten their new-born and helpless progeny.

  Jack London

  Mother, Father, Instinct

  Jack London, JACK LONDON (2015). “White Fang (Arcadia Classics)”, p.54, Jack London

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• But it did not all happen in a day, this giving over of himself, body and soul, to the man-animals. He could not immediately forego his wild heritage and his memories of the Wild. There were days when he crept to the edge of the forest and stood and listened to something calling him far and away.

  Jack London

  Animal, Men, Giving

  Jack London (2016). “Klondike Two Pack: The Call of the Wild and White Fang”, p.128, Lulu.com

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• The thinnest slice would be teeming with memories of a love so strong it turned you inside out and left you gasping, and would be an identical match to a slice stored in the heart of a soul mate.

  Jodi Picoult

  Strong, Heart, Soul

  Jodi Picoult (2012). “The Jodi Picoult Collection #2: Perfect Match, Second Glance, and My Sister's Keeper”, p.452, Simon and Schuster

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• The voice so filled with nostalgia that you could almost see the memories floating through the blue smoke, memories not only of music and joy and youth, but perhaps, of dreams. They listened to the music, each hearing it in his own way, feeling relaxed and a part of the music, a part of each other, and almost a part of the world.

  Hubert Selby, Jr.

  Dream, Blue, Voice

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• What frightens you? What makes the hair on your arms rise, your palms sweat, the breath catch in your chest like a wild thing caged? Is it the dark? A fleeting memory of a bedtime story, ghosts and goblins and witches hiding in the shadows? Is it the way the wind picks up just before a storm, the hint of wet in the air that makes you want to scurry home to the safety of your fire? Or is it something deeper, something much more frightening, a monster deep inside that you've glimpsed only in pieces, the vast unknown of your own soul where secrets gather with a terrible power, the dark inside?

  Libba Bray

  Home, Dark, Wind

  Libba Bray (2010). “A Great and Terrible Beauty”, p.60, Simon and Schuster

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• On the other hand, she was a women with a million happy memories, who knew what it was like to experience true love and who was ready to experience more life, more love and make new memories. Whether it happened in ten months or ten years, Holly would obey Gerry's final message. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she would open her heart and follow where it led. In the meantime, she would just live.

  Cecelia Ahern

  Love, Heart, Hands

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• Ultimate horror often paralyses memory in a merciful way.

  H. P. Lovecraft

  Way, Horror, Paralysis

  H. P. Lovecraft (2016). “H. P. LOVECRAFT äóñ The Ultimate Horror Collection: 60 Occult & Supernatural Mysteries in One Volume: The Greatest Spine-Chilling and Blood-Curdling Stories of Terror & Macabre: The Call of Cthulhu, The White Ship, The Dunwich Horror, At The Mountains Of Madness, The Whisperer in Darknessäó_”, p.274, e-artnow

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• One keeps searching for ease, she did not say, and not finding it, till the memories of no-pain seem only like daydreams.

  Robin McKinley

  Pain, Ease, Daydreaming

  Robin McKinley (2014). “The Outlaws of Sherwood”, p.208, Open Road Media

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• Nothing can match the treasure of common memories, of trials endured together, of quarrels and reconciliations and generous emotions. It is idle, having planted an acorn in the morning, to expect that afternoon to sit in the shade of the oak.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

  Morning, Together, Trials

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• Negotiating with memories isn't easy: how to choose between those panting to be told, those still ripening, those already shriveling, and those destined to be mangled by language and come out pulverized?

  Steve Toltz

  Language, Easy, Ripening

  Steve Toltz (2008). “A Fraction of the Whole”, p.3, Spiegel & Grau

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• I stir in bed and the memories rise out of me like a buzz of flies from a carcass. I crave to be rid of them.

  Barbara Kingsolver

  Bed, Buzz, Crave

  Barbara Kingsolver (2008). “The Poisonwood Bible”, p.13, Faber & Faber

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• My name is Eva, which means 'life,' according to a book of names my mother consulted. I was born in the back room of a shadowy house, and grew up amidst ancient furniture, books in Latin, and human mummies, but none of those things made me melancholy, because I came into the world with a breath of the jungle in my memory.

  Isabel Allende

  Mother, Latin, Book

  Isabel Allende (1989). “Eva Luna”, Bantam

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• Wine talks; ask anyone. The oracle at the street corner; the uninvited guest at the wedding feast; the holy fool. It ventriloquizes. It has a million voices. It unleashes the tongue, teasing out secrets you never meant to tell, secrets you never even knew. It shouts, rants, whispers. It speaks of great plans, tragic loves, and terrible betrayals. It screams with laughter. It chuckles softly to itself. It weeps in front of its own reflection. It revives summers long past and memories best forgotten. Every bottle a whiff of other times, other places, everyone...a humble miracle

  Joanne Harris

  Summer, Laughter, Betrayal

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• . . . your history is no less important to your survival than your ability to breathe. In the end, you can only determine whether to saturate your memories with pain or with perspective. Forgetting is not an option. I tell you the truth now: Pain was not God's plan for this life. It is a reality, but it is not a part of the plan.

  Ted Dekker

  Pain, Reality, Perspective

  Ted Dekker (2010). “Dekker 4-in-1 Bundle: Black, Showdown, Heaven's Wager & Kiss”, p.844, Thomas Nelson Inc

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• And he wants you to keep that at the front of your mind? He wants you to stay focused on the darkest seasons of your life? How could that possibly do any good?' . . . He wants you to remember who delivered you from that time. That's the point of holding on to memory: delivery, not darkness.

  Ted Dekker

  Darkness, Mind, Want

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• I suppose therefore that all things I see are illusions; I believe that nothing has ever existed of everything my lying memory tells me. I think I have no senses. I believe that body, shape, extension, motion, location are functions. What is there then that can be taken as true? Perhaps only this one thing, that nothing at all is certain.

  Rene Descartes

  Lying, Believe, Taken

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• If you're lucky enough to fall in love, that's one thing. Otherwise all that was ever truly beautiful to me was boyhood. It's the meal we sup on for the rest of our lives. Love puts the icing on life. But if you don't find it...you must call on your childhood memories over and over till you do.

  Leon Uris

  Beautiful, Falling In Love, Love Life

  Leon Uris (1976). “Trinity”, Doubleday Books

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• A journey, after all, neither begins in the instant we set out, nor ends when we have reached our door step once again. It starts much earlier and is really never over, because the film of memory continues running on inside of us long after we have come to a physical standstill. Indeed, there exists something like a contagion of travel, and the disease is essentially incurable.

  Ryszard Kapuscinski

  Running, Journey, Doors

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• ...and again she wished for Sherwood, and the dappled roof of leaves that never weighed upon her. She pulled her scarf closer around her and thought, I would rather live in a hut in the woods; a hut like the one of my first memories, with a clean-swept dirt floor, and a brown-eyed boy watching me from behind his mother's skirts as I watched him from behind mine.

  Robin McKinley

  Mother, Boys, Scarves

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