Very soon she'll join all the others who know the secret and will not tell it. Or cannot. Or try and fail because they do not know enough. They can be recognized. White faces, dazed eyes, aimless gest...
For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say? --some d...
(pl. ) of Memory
The trouble with discarding bad memories was that evidently the good ones went with them
The first person who is on your mind the moment you open your eyes after a long sleep is the reason either of your happiness or pain.
Songs and smells will bring you back to a moment in time more than anything else. It's amazing how much can be conjured with a few notes of a song or a solitary whiff of a room.
My heart's with you, Bill, no matter how it turns out. My heart is with all of them, and I think that, even if we forget each other, we'll remember in our dreams.
Listen, listen! I interrupted her. Forgive me if I tell you something else.... I tell you what, I can't help coming here to-morrow, I am a dreamer; I have so little real life that I look upon such mom...
Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, someth...
When I started writing, I was a great rationalist and believed I was absolutely in control. But the older one gets, the more confused, and for an artist I think that is quite a good thing: you allow i...
I write because I can remember and to keep those memories alive. I write for pleasure. I write because I must.
A question wells up inside me, a question so big it blocks my throat and makes it hard to breathe. Somehow I swallow it back, finally choosing another.
If we lose all our sweet memories, it means we are dead even if we are alive!
When they look at a beautiful view, most people see their memories, not the view!
There are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.
You are scared to relive them, the vulnerability of succumbing. So you think to shove them into a box at the back of your closet makes them less of a ticking time bomb?
were the last words that I wrote for you enough to tell youthat in my death the light that shone through my painful darknesswas a blinding vision of your eternal smile?cold scalpel's steel whispers te...
From now on when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I planned to say, Amnesiac.
I don't even know whether past feelings and memories deserve any respect at all. Maybe they're no more important than a pinch of pain from an injury decades old. Feelings and memories rise and pass ev...
Dreams are composed of many things, my son. Of images and hopes, of fears and memories. Memories of the past, and memories of the future...
Books are like flypaper, memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.