A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.
Each day of our lives we make deposits in the memory banks of our children.
Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.
Friends are the most important part of your life. Treasure the tears, treasure the laughter, but most importantly, treasure the memories.
There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.
Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.
We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.
I know well there is no comfort for this pain of parting. The wound always remains, but one learns to bear the pain, and learns to thank God for what he gave. For the beautiful memories of the past, and the yet more beautiful hope for the future.
I also remembered that you were beautiful." "Memory does play tricks on us." "No. Your face is the same, but I don't remember what beautiful means anymore.
All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.
Is this what sadness is all about? Is it what comes over us when beautiful memories shatter in hindsight because the remembered happiness fed not just on actual circumstances but on a promise that was not kept?
Alas, poor Yorick! How surprised he would be to see how his counterpart of today is whisked off to a funeral parlor and is in short order sprayed, sliced, pierced, pickled, trussed, trimmed, creamed, waxed, painted, rouged and neatly dressed - transformed from a common corpse into a Beautiful Memory Picture.
Love isn't restricted by time because every minute and every second creates beautiful memories.
We try to keep the beautiful memories, but other things from the past creep up on us.
I always wanted to be a father. I have a beautiful relationship with my dad and beautiful memories. I always knew I was going to have a family.
Beautiful memories tell our story, and wrap themselves in ribbons of the heart.
Wherever a beautiful soul has been there is a trail of beautiful memories.
It is easy to turn our religious life into a cathedral for beautiful memories, but there are feet to be washed . . .
It's easier to die when you have lived, than it is to die when you haven't. So I say to all young people, go make memories; beautiful memories. Because when the time comes to go, you won't go alone.
Live Fast, Love Hard, DieYoung (And Leave A Beautiful Memory).
or simply: