Memories Quotes - Page 6

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, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound.

Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer-both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams.

It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.

She clung to the memories of her youth as if they were the only way she could save a piece of her soul from whatever it was she was about to face.

She would never truly be her own woman if she allowed fear and old memories to dictate where she would or would not go.

When you choose your life, ignore people, when you make it in life, remember some friends, when you sing a song, praise your source, when predicaments arises, stand your ground.

To read, even in the half-dark, is also to call the lost forward.

A picture's worth a thousand words. But a single word can make you think of over a thousand pictures in your mind, over a thousand moments, a thousand memories.

No skill is more crucial to the future of a child than literacy.

Reading is one of the best ways to bond with your child. Bond this Christmas with “It’s Not About You, Mr. Santa Claus

Cuddle with your children. Don't just read – talk about the pictures too. Give emphasis to your words and make them come alive!Make it fun and enjoyable.

But she knew that no matter what beauty lay behind, it must remain there. No one could go forward with a load of aching memories.

Recuerdo que mucha gente pensó que todos los que dejasen de dormir venderían su cama. No pasó; la cama aún tenía muchas funciones en la vida de esa gente: amar, tener sexo, descansar con los ojos abiertos, tumbarse, vivir… Se vendieron más camas que nunca.

Seeing your mother naked is not something you easily recover from. Seeing your mother naked and jumping from one side of a king-sized bed to the other with a nurse's hat on while your father, who is also naked, is chasing her with a bandanna around his neck, is reason to put yourself up for adoption.

Siempre flotaban en el aire los perfumes de los dulces de leche y nuez que hacía mi abuela, los de sus conservas y mermeladas, los del tomillo y el epazote que crecían en macetas en el jardín, y más recientemente los de naranjas, azahares y miel.

I blinked and the images were gone. But I remembered how the laugh and the howl and the splash would ripple and echo in the stillness of our lake, and I wondered if ripples and echoes like those ever fully die away, if somewhere in the woods my father's joyful yelps still bounced quietly off the trees. Silly thought, but there you go.

He will miss this quiet full of noise: the nighthawks, the way the woods breathe, the things moving unsuspected through the dark. But he will take with him the canisters full of blasted images and have the pleasure of living them again. They are not nothing, the memories.

And it never mattered who the man I portrayed him to be was.
The memory was in the same place as the fantasy, and that place was proven so contorted, convoluted, I'm unsure if I ever told the truth.

Fantasies... who needs fantasies? I have memories.

«¿Vengarme? ¿Venganza? Yo ya tomé la mía. Corté las cabezas de los bandidos que acabaron con mi familia. Las clavé en tres estacas y las miré durante días y días. Y en elvacío y la soledad, la venganza me supo a poco, a nada, a sangreen las manos.»