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#memo

Read through the most famous quotes by topic #memo




He did not have anything on him except her thoughts, except the good times he had once shared and the bad times he so desperately wanted to forget. ↗


— Faraaz Kazi


#memory #sad #tragic #love

Identity is memory; when memory disappears, the self dissolves and love with it. ↗


— John Lahr


#love #memory #love

He loves me, he loves me not. How many flowers must I kill before he loves me?” ~He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not ↗


— Kimberly Kinrade


#poetry #love

The people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this you keep them alive. ↗


— Rob Montgomery


#ghosts #love #memory #remember #love

Oh, but once my memories had pulsed with the blood-heat of life. In desperation, I forced myself to recall that once, I had walked with kings and conversed in languages never heard in this land. Once I had stood at the prow of a Sea Wolf ship and sailed oceans unknown to seamen here. I had ridden horses through desert lands, and dined on exotic foods in Arab tents. I had roamed Constantinople’s fabled streets, and bowed before the Holy Roman Emperor’s throne. I had been a slave, a spy, a sailor. Advisor and confidant of lords, I had served Arabs, Byzantines, and barbarians. I had worn captive’s rags, and the silken robes of a Sarazen prince. Once I had held a jeweled knife and taken a life with my own hand. Yes, and once I had held a loving woman in my arms and kissed her warm and willing lips...Death would have been far, far better than the gnawing, aching emptiness that was now my life. ↗


— Stephen R. Lawhead


#despair #holy-roman-emperor #memories #death

The Memory Of You Is Like A Drug To Me ↗


— Jeremy Aldana


#drug-addiction #honesty #longing #love #loving

Toy is talking and this is why I love her. She can go on about herself ceaselessly and like the scratching of a branch against the window at night, the steady insistence of it is comforting. She has stories without beginnings, stories that trail off, stories that crisscross and contradict and dead end. Toy is the star of her stories. Events orbit her like a constellation. ↗


— Erica Lorraine Scheidt


#stories #storytelling #love

She had died at age twelve, and by now she was nothing but the memory of love-- nothing, now, but bones. ↗


— Kim Edwards


#love #memory #age

He thinks of the rotten parachute they played with as kids in Arcadia: they hurtle through life aging unimaginably fast, but each grasps a silken edge of memory that billows between them and softens the long fall. ↗


— Lauren Groff


#friendship #memories #age

The hollowness in his chest, the tense yearning, the loneliness he braces against, every morning until he can immerse himself in work and forget. Not love. Something else, something with a power that endures. Not love, but a memory of love. ↗


— Aminatta Forna


#memory #love






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