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Memoir Quotes

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Memoir Quotes

“This is the secret: when I encounter myself on the page, I am shocked at how forceful I seem. On the page I am strong, because that is where I put my strength. On the page I am everything that I am not, because that is where I put myself. I am no longer whispering through the small skirted shape of a keyhole: the door is knocked down and the roof is blown off and I am aimed once more at the entire wide night.”

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Book:Priestdaddy
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“It was soothing to sit with life-long friends, the cacophony of bar sounds around us while we caught up on our lives and talked about the glory days of high school. My life since then had been on an accelerated trajectory, not always aimed in the best direction. I acquired a sense of well-being from those friends who married their high school sweethearts, set up housekeeping a stone's throw from where they grew up, and kept the heartbeat of small-town living beating rhythmically.”

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Book:Riding Soul-O
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“Life isn’t about being strong or pretending we are strong to impress others. It takes courage to be authentic with our feelings and acknowledge that real strength comes from recognizing our moments of weakness.”

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Book:The Emotional Gift: Memoir of a Highly Sensitive Person Who Overcame Depression
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“Nothing screams SUMMER like strawberry shortcake, and yet in Florida the season for strawberries is December through March! But then, by March the daytime temperature is likely to be in the mid-70s to low 80s. So, it’s really easy to think “Ahhh, summer’s almost here.” So, when we planned a BD Party for our friend Bob Mason, we said, “It’s strawberry season! Let’s party!”

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Book:The Kitchen and the Studio: A Memoir of Food and Art
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“Seafood Newburg is a dish with a history. Well, of course MOST dishes have some kind of “history,” but this particular dish is sort of a history celebrity. It all began around 1876 when an “epicurean” named Ben Wenberg (or Wenburg) demonstrated the dish at Delmonico’s restaurant in New York City. After some “tweaking” by the Delmonico chef, Charles Ranhofer, the dish was added to the menu under the name “Lobster Wenburg.” It proved to be very popular. But sometime later, Wenburg got involved in a dispute with the Delmonico’s management and the dish was subsequently removed from the menu. But customers still requested it. So, the name was changed to “Lobster Newburg” and reappeared to the delight of restaurant customers. So, that’s the story. Probably. One can never be sure about these origin myths.”

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Book:The Kitchen and the Studio: A Memoir of Food and Art
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“Who can define reality? Isn't everything subjective? If you & I witness the same event, we will recall it and recount it differently. ... Memory is conditioned by emotion, we remember better, and more fully, things that move us, such as the joy of a birth, the pleasure of a night of love, the pain of a loved one's death, the trauma of a wound. When we call up the past, we choose intense moments--good or bad--and omit the enormous gray area of daily life.”

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Book:My Invented Country: A Nostalgic Journey Through Chile
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“Both memory and imagination arrest time. By conjoining memory and imagination in forming storytelling’s language, style, and texture, writers’ negate the mind’s march into forgetfulness. We employ the full sprung use of memory and imagination to blunt our descent into nothingness.”

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Book:Dead Toad Scrolls
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“My husband and I have always been good at creative visualization. Before we quit drugs and got married he’d place tabs of acid on his eyes to see things that weren't there. I'd lay blank sheets of photographic paper on the cornea of developing solution to conjure images. We'd always coaxed dreams from paper, and believed them.”

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Book:Dreaming in Night Vision: A Story in Vignettes
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“Wallace travelled independently and was challenged every step. He had no government or military support system. He had little cash — he earned enough to survive by sending natural history specimens to his agent in London for sale to collectors and museums. He had visceral moments of excitement when he discovered a beautiful new butterfly or adopted a baby orangutan he had just orphaned by shooting its mother. He lived simply, often in the rainforest on isolated islands, in a manner completely different to the expected behavior of other Western explorers and colonials.”

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Book:"Look Here, Sir, What a Curious Bird": Searching for Ali, Alfred Russel Wallace's Faithful Companion
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“I could simply kill you now, get it over with, who would know the difference? I could easily kick you in, stove you under, for all those times, mean on gin, you rammed words into my belly. (p. 52)”

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Author:Barbara Blatner
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“oh. she heard it too-no waters coursing, canyon empty, sun soundless- and the beast your life nowhere hiding (p. 103)”

LoveLifeDeathMotherPoetryHateGriefHealingDyingNew YorkSonPoemConflictLetting GoCancerMemoirGrievingPoemsDeath And DyingDeath Of A Loved OneVersesMountainsAlcoholismSoul SearchingLove And HateDaughtersMemoirsVerseDeath And LoveDeath And SicknessColon CancerDying At HomeGrieving The Loss Of A MotherBarbara BlatnerDeath And SonNew York QuarterlyDeath And DaughtersVerse Memoir
Book:The Still Position: A Verse Memoir of My Mother's Death
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“...gripping the rim of the sink you claw your way to stand and cling there, quaking with will, on heron legs, and still the hot muck pours out of you. (p. 27)”

LoveLifeDeathMotherPoetryHateGriefHealingDyingNew YorkSonPoemConflictCancerMemoirGrievingPoemsDeath And DyingDeath Of A Loved OneVersesMountainsAlcoholismDaughtersMemoirsVerseDeath And LoveDeath And SicknessColon CancerDying At HomeGrieving The Loss Of A MotherBarbara BlatnerDeath And SonNew York QuarterlyDeath And DaughtersVerse Memoir
Book:The Still Position: A Verse Memoir of My Mother's Death
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“I was hostile, and I had every right to be. Middle school didn't make any sense. If you were mean, people liked you. If you were nice, people were mean. If you teased girls, they smiled and laughed. If you complimented them, they frowned and walked away. If you were bad in class, you were hailed in the hallway. If you were good in class, you were bullied in the locker room. The pretty girls dated the ugly boys, and the only friends you had were the ones you didn't want.”

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Book:Hadha Baladuna: Arab American Narratives of Boundary and Belonging
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“We have an almost equal mix of children with and without disabilities. Thorin wouldn’t be the only child with Down syndrome.” Ward asked, “How’d you create that ratio? Why would parents when’d their children here if they didn’t have a disability?” Louise smiled. “Some parents believe diversity of all kinds is important to their children’s development. Also we have numerous siblings here. Parents want their children at the same school.”

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Book:Not Always Happy: An Unusual Parenting Journey
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“The Air Force was confused about what it wanted me to be when I grew up. I applied for an ROTC scholarship out of high school because I wanted to be an astronaut. None of my teachers had ever broken the news to me that I couldn’t fly into space, so the third-grade dream remained.”

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Book:The Long Walk: A Story of War and the Life That Follows
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“I am not your dog that you whistle for; I’m not a stray animal you call over, and I am not, I never have been, nor will I ever be, your “baby”!”

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Book:I'm Not Your "Baby": An Australian woman's tortured life of sexual harassment and assault
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“I didn't intentionally gravitate towards stories of women. I was interested in human rights, which often boiled down to this question: who was winning and who was losing? And over and over again, country after country, story after story, it was the men who were winning and the women who were losing. Not always, not everywhere, but most often, and by a wide, wide margin.”

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Book:Women We Buried, Women We Burned: A Memoir
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“A teenager doesn't know she's still a child. A teenager feels like an adult, I suppose primarily because her outside, her flesh and her face, her body, her size, her width and height, look like - and can function like, get pregnant like, can party like, get arrested like, and die just like - an adult. She thinks she's making decisions as a grown-up with a fully developed brain and, in a case like mine, a fully developed faith. She's wrong about both of those beliefs. But chances are, she will not realize what a child she was until, as a full-grown adult, she knows and loves a teenager.”

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Book:All My Knotted-Up Life: A Memoir
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“I was learning about journalism, and I was learning about politics. I discovered there was plenty of politics in journalism, dumping a story, a great story, to keep the Mayor happy. I heard Coach Michael’s voice in my head: ‘You can’t run and gun, girl.’ Mitch’s voice: ‘You can’t wear that bikini, girl.’ Even Janice’s voice: ‘You can’t tell anyone, ever.’ Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. That’s why I wasn’t going to back down (about killing the story).”

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Book:Penis Politics: A Memoir of Women, Men and Power
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“A person who sets goals is a hopeful person, whereas a person whom fails to achieve their goals might despair. Why do both hope and despair fill my inner world? Who cannot despair when inducted into a world filled with cruelty? Who cannot despair when serving as the serf in a seigneur’s regime that bestows legal and economic power, financial rewards, social status, and related societal prizes upon feudal lords who exhibit the ravenous instinct for power and accumulation of wealth? Who cannot despair when stranded alone with their personal thoughts, unable to imagine a better earthly life, and flooded with uncertainty of a redemptive afterlife? Why would not any person despair his or her failure to etch a mindset that serves to alleviate their present-day suffering?”

SufferingHopeDespairMindsetMemoirSelf RealizationHopefulSelf DeterminationTranscendenceGoal Setting
Book:Dead Toad Scrolls
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“One other thing—she was always armed. Ossie May talked about her gun even more than she bragged about her cooking. Out of nowhere, she took me to the gun range. She finished one clip with her right hand then unloaded the other clip with her left hand. I certainly got the message. She was not to be messed with or messed over. I was scared straight by this woman.”

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Book:Surviving Chaos: How I Found Peace at A Beach Bar
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“My Mother They are killing her again. She said she did it One year in every ten, But they do it annually, or weekly, Some even do it daily, Carrying her death around in their heads And practicing it. She saves them The trouble of their own; They can die through her Without ever making The decision. My buried mother Is up-dug for repeat performances. Now they want to make a film For anyone lacking the ability To imagine the body, head in oven, Orphaning children. Then It can be rewound So they can watch her die Right from the beginning again. The peanut eaters, entertained At my mother’s death, will go home, Each carrying their memory of her, Lifeless – a souvenir. Maybe they’ll buy the video. Watching someone on TV Means all they have to do Is press ‘pause’ If they want to boil a kettle, While my mother holds her breath on screen To finish dying after tea. The filmmakers have collected The body parts, They want me to see. They require dressings to cover the joins And disguise the prosthetics In their remake of my mother; They want to use her poetry As stitching and sutures To give it credibility. They think I should love it – Having her back again, they think I should give them my mother’s words To fill the mouth of their monster, Their Sylvia Suicide Doll, Who will walk and talk And die at will, And die, and die And forever be dying.”

SadnessDepressionSuicideMental HealthMemoirDepression RecoverySylvia PlathFrieda Hughes
Book:The Book of Mirrors
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