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Memory Quotes

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Memory Quotes

“बचपन की यादें, बचपन की समझ लिए रहती हैं। बादमें उनपर जितने रंग चढ़ाओ मगर वे तो उस रंगरेज को अपनी स्मृति सौंप चुकी होती हैं, जो पक्के रंग चढ़ाने में माहिर है।”

MemoriesChildhoodMemoryChildhood Memories
Book:आई डोन्ट लाइक यू
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“When you were a child, you tell me, you lived under a tin roof, and whenever it rained, beneath its slanting body, you’d sit and listen to the millions of pouring droplets. In them you found tiny signs of the world, a place where you could make sense of things through a divine sound that poured over you. This sound, you say, cloaked your entire childhood, and underneath this sound were the memories of your unfledged years. She seems to have cut ties with time; a minute to her would be a meaningless sound, an hour a gentle breeze. She seems to glide through time, as opposed to everyone else who scurries behind it; perhaps her relationship with time has resulted in mutual indifference, for they have lived with one another for so long that they’ve gone their separate ways; but they respect each other, her and time, from a metaphysical distance.”

ChildhoodRainMemory
Book:Birds on a Carousel
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“I have stored these memories the way any child stores memory--a haphazard collection of sharp, bright objects socked away on the darkest shelves in the dustiest corners of our mental filing systems. They stay there, those memories, rattling in the dark. Scratching at the walls. Disrupting our careful ordering of what we think is true. And injuring us when we forget how dangerous they are, and we grasp too hard.”

ChildhoodMemoryTrauama
Book:When Women Were Dragons
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“But it may be that the only reason childhood memories act on us so strongly is that, being the most remote we possess, they are the worst remembered and so offer the least resistance to that process by which we mold them nearer and nearer to an ideal which is fundamentally artistic, or at least nonfactual; so it may be that some of these events I describe never occurred at all, but only should have, and that others had not the shades and flavors—for example, of jealousy or antiquity or shame—that I have later unconsciously chosen to give them.”

ChildhoodMemory
Book:Peace
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“A Gathering of Frogs by Stewart Stafford Through the fence with friends, And into the back field frontier, Past the growing pile of lumber, Shivers for the Halloween bonfire. Down the slope to a boundary hedge, Rusty bathtub lying like a crime scene, And into the deepening marsh beyond, For the ritual kidnapping of frogspawn. Frogs leap through reeds and tall grass, The bulbous jelly of many eyes located, Scooped surgically into a container, Up to our fort to study our live plunder. Tongues of smoke from our twig fire, On the derelict path between estates, Crisps consumed in the darkening chill, Then, satiated, a walk home for dinner. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

KidsChildhoodAdventureMemoryFrogsChildhood MemoriesChildhood FriendsChildhood MemoryFrogMarsh
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“I miss you more than I remember. They will tell you that to be political is to be merely angry, and therefore artless, depthless, “raw”, and empty. They will speak of the political with embarrassment, as if speaking of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. They will tell you that great writing ‘breaks free’ from the political, thereby ‘transcending’ the barriers of difference, uniting people toward universal truths. They’ll say this is achieved through craft above all. Let’s see how it’s made, they’ll say — as if how something is assembled is aliens to the impulse that created it. As if the first chair was hammered into existence without considering the human form. I know. It’s not fair that the word laughter is trapped inside slaughter.”

WritingPoliticsChildhoodMemoryIdentity Quotes
Book:On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
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“I saw a bubble float past my window, fat and wobbly and ripening towards that dragonfly blue they turn just before they burst. So I looked down at the yard and there you were, you and your mother, blowing bubbles at the cat, such a barrage of them that the poor beast was beside herself at the glut of opportunity. She was actually leaping in the air, our insouciant Soapy! Some of the bubbles drifted up through the branches, even above the trees. You were too intent on the cat to see the celestial consequences of your worldly endeavours. They were very lovely. Your mother is wearing her blue dress and you are wearing your red shirt and you were kneeling on the ground together with Soapy between and that effulgence of bubbles rising, and so much laughter. Ah, this life, this world.”

LifeChildhoodLaughterMemoryBubbles
Book:Gilead
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“Those faces on Main Street shaded by wide straw hats are surrounded in my child-memory by hardware and ploughs, seed bags and bales of cotton, the smell of guano and mule lots, hot sun on sidewalks and lovely white ladies with sweet childlike voices and smooth childlike faces, and Old gardens of boxwood and camellias, and fields endlessly curving around my small world. I know now that the bitterness, the cruel sensual lips, the quick fears in hard eyes, the sashshaying buttocks of brown girls, the thin childish voices of white women, had a great deal to do with high interest at the bank and low wages in the mills and gullied fields and lynchings and Ku Klux Klan and segregation and sacred womanhood and revivals, and Prohibition. And that no part of this memory can be understood without recalling it all of it.”

ChildhoodMemoryRace RelationsSouthern CultureGeorgia Writers
Author:Lillian Smith
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“শৈশব যে মসলিন বুনে দেয়, বড় হয়ে তাকেই কী নিষ্ঠুরভাবে ছেঁড়ে মানুষ ! কেন ছেঁড়ে ? ছিঁড়ে কি পায় ? কথায় বলে, স্মৃতি সতত সুখের। কথাটা যে কী ভয়ঙ্কর মিথ্যে !”

ChildhoodMemory
Book:কাছের মানুষ
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“A person in her twenties has been a child for most of her life, but as time goes by that portion that is childhood becomes smaller and smaller, more and more distant, more and more faded, though they say at the end of life the beginning returns with renewed vividness, as though you had sailed all the way around the world and were going back into the darkness from which you came.”

ChildhoodYouthTravelMemoryNostalgiaOld Age
Book:A Field Guide to Getting Lost
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“When I first began to write, I had been a child for most of my life, and my childhood memories were vivid and potent, and the forces that shaped me, Most of them have grown fainter with time, and whenever I write one down, I give it away: it ceases to have the shadowy life of memory and becomes fixed in letters: it ceases to be mine; it loses that mobile unreliability of the live.”

WritingChildhoodMemoryNostalgia
Book:A Field Guide to Getting Lost
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“We communed together a moment, one with the other—I was deeply fascinated. At our first encounter I am sure I had a nebulous presentiment that I would one day go to it in spite of my hesitation, in spite of all the efforts put forth to hold me back,—and the emotion that overwhelmed me in the presence of the sea was not only one of fear, but I felt also an inexpressible sadness, and I seemed to feel the anguish of desolation, bereavement and exile. With downcast mien, and with hair blown about by the wind, I turned and ran home. I was in the extreme haste to be with my mother; I wished to embrace her and to cling close to her; I desired to be with her so that she might console me for the thousand indefinite, anticipated sorrows that surged through my heart at the sight of those green waters, so vast and so deep.”

ChildhoodSorrowMemory
Book:The Story of a Child
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“A lifetime of memories does not provide empirical proof of the value of living. No one memory has a quantifiable value to anyone expect the holder of the memory. Parenting in large part consists of creating positive memories for children. An accumulation of a lifetime of memories does create a musical score that we can assess from an artistic if not scientific perspective. Each happy memory generates a beat of minor joy that when strung together form the musical notes demarking a person’s prosodic inner tune.”

PastRememberMemoriesChildhoodParentingMemoryNostalgiaHappiness QuotesRemembranceParents And ChildrenRecollectionRememberingChildhood MemoriesMemories QuotesMemory QuoteHappiness QuotationsHappy MemoriesSpecial MomentsRecollectionsSmall PleasuresSpecial MomentRecollectPast TimesSpecial Memories
Book:Dead Toad Scrolls
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“Something weird moved through me, a feeling of familiarity, and as I stood in front of my locker, I found myself thinking of the one bright thing in a past full of shadows and darkness. I thought about the boy who made my chest hurt, the one who’d promised forever. It had been four years since I’d seen him or even heard him speak. Four years of trying to erase everything that had to do with that portion of my childhood, but I remembered him. I wondered about him. How could I not? I always would. He had been the sole reason I survived the house we’d grown up in.”

RememberForeverChildhoodMemoryThinkBoyMallory
Book:The Problem with Forever
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“It was too quiet for hope, and then too loud for safety. She thought of the people she had lost, of the affection, the smiles, the belonging she could never again take for granted. It was the end of a life, and as she stood there, shivering in the brief night-time chill, it dawned on her that it was the end of her childhood.”

LossChildhoodMemoryTraumaSeparationPakistanForbidden LovePartitionIndian Independence MovementPunjab
Book:Where the River Parts
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“It’s what we’re all trying to do, right? Remember a time that was better. Re-create a moment of that memory as we let the crisp Coke bubble down our throats. Riding bikes on a summer day. Sitting on the curb and watching the streetlights come on. Playing in the sprinklers with a group of neighbor kids. We’re all trying to salvage a time when we dreamed beyond our reality and thought monsters were under our beds instead of peppering our family trees. We’re trying to harness those fleeting moments that turned our ordinary lives into something extraordinary. In the sepia haze of those memories, we are beautiful.”

LifeMemoriesChildhoodMemory
Book:Nowhere But Home
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“The smooth, flat rocks were exactly the same, the sea pounded down on them in the same way, and also the landscape under the water, with its small valleys and bays and steep chasms and slopes, strewn with starfish and sea urchins, crabs and fish, was the same. You could still buy Slazenger tennis rackets, Tretorn balls, and Rossignol skis, Tyrolia bindings and Koflach boots. The houses where we lived were still standing, all of them. The sole difference, which is the difference between a child’s reality and an adult’s, was that they were no longer laden with meaning. A pair of Le Coq soccer boots was just a pair of soccer boots. If I felt anything when I held a pair in my hands now it was only a hangover from my childhood, nothing else, nothing in itself. The same with the sea, the same with the rocks, the same with the taste of salt that could fill your summer days to saturation, now it was just salt, end of story. The world was the same, yet it wasn’t, for its meaning had been displaced, and was still being displaced, approaching closer and closer to meaninglessness.”

ChildhoodMemory
Author:Karl Ove Knausgård
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“Ficámos de novo sem assunto. Olhei à minha volta. O branco é triste como o negro, nunca antes o tinha sentido. (...) Não lhe acariciei a mão, nem lhe pus a minha sobre a testa, num gesto de consolação. Não fiz nada disso. E devia-o ter feito. Mas que a tristeza me dominou, que apeteceu chorar, por ver o meu pai tão doente, isso era verdade. Ele tê-lo-ia compreendido? Decerto é ilusão julgarmos que outras pessoas podem compartilhar dos nossos sentimentos através de simples palavras. Se eu dissesse que vejo na memória um homem encolhido na cadeira, metido num fato largo demais como se não pertencesse, com as mãos amarelo torcidas sobre o ventre e o olhar fixo no chão, alguém o verá como eu o vi?”

FatherChildhoodMemory
Book:O Mundo Em Que Vivi
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“A minha mãe escondia os sentimentos; talvez soubesse amar, não sei, mas não sabia nem dizê-lo nem mostrá-lo. Uma noite, eu fingia dormir, entrou sem fazer ruído. Acendeu a luz da mesinha de cabeceira e contemplou-me uns momentos. Teria gostado de abrir os olhos, deitar-lhe os braços ao pescoço, mas o amor é dar e receber, isso adivinhava sem que ninguém mo tivesse ensinado.”

ChildhoodMemoryIlse Losa
Book:O Mundo Em Que Vivi
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“As árvores nas margens, cobertas de neve, as raparigas de boina de lã e de mãos medidas no regalo, a música que de tão fogosa aquecia o ambiente, tudo isso pertence aos momentos bué construíram a mesma minha vida, pois que mais é uma vida do que o reportório de momentos? É injusta a Natureza, que priva parte das crianças de um mundo de Inverno branco, de rios gelados em que se dança, para o substituir por chuvas monótonas, por humidade que, agressiva e hostil, nos penetra no corpo. (...) Apetecia-me chorar, não por causa da dor que passou depressa, mas por me sentir o invadida por uma tristeza singular. Era como se alguma coisa de muito belo tivesse desaparecido da minha existência ou como se alguém querido se tivesse despedido para sempre.”

SadnessChildhoodMemory
Book:O Mundo Em Que Vivi
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“A child is asleep. Her private life unwinds inside skin and skull; only as she sheds childhood, first one decade and then another, can she locate the actual, historical stream, see the setting of her dreaming private life—the nation, the city, the neighborhood, the house where the family lives—as an actual project under way, a project living people willed, and made well or failed, and are still making, herself among them. I breathed the air of history all unaware, and walked oblivious through its littered layers.”

HistoryChildhoodMemoryAwakening
Book:An American Childhood
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