#memo

Nebylo tu nic pořádného k snědku, bylo to jenom velké akvárium, jehož stěny tvořily místo skleněných tabulí ze dvou stran břehy, dole písek, a nahoře nebe. A kolem dokola kvetly pomněnky a říkali vzpomínej. ↗

— Ota Pavel

#fish #food #memories #food

Her father’s shadow looked sadly down at her. “You can never forget what you do in a war, September my love. No one can. You won’t forget your war either. ↗

— Catherynne M. Valente

#war #love

آه كم هي عنيدة الذاكرة وذاكرتي لا تتركني بسلام ، تملأ مخيلتي بصور ، بكلمات ، بألم وحب ↗

— Isabel Allende

#memory #novel #love

He stopped his act to take a snapshot of that instant he would so treasure- her delightful laughter that could make him do anything, anything at all, in the world and beyond! ↗

— Faraaz Kazi

#love #memories #love

It never leaves, not with someone we love. Their presence burns too vivid in our memories. Happen that is as it should be, for otherwise we would too easy forget. ↗

— Helen Hollick

#memories #love

...everything is gone except traces of you inside me - and the years like the wind are sweeping those away ... ↗

— John Geddes

#love-lost #memories #pain #love

I fly through memory to find a newborn love. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#find #finding-love-love #flying #literature #literature-quotes

In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory. ↗

— Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez

#nostalgia #recollection #love

Sometimes I think of you and I feel giddy. Memory makes me lightheaded, drunk on champagne. All the things we did. And if anyone has said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. That surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shift of recognition. It was worth it. Love is worth it. ↗

— Jeanette Winterson

#heartache #hurt #love #memory #pain

The archive of supposed photocopies (I.E. memory) actually offers up strange creatures; the green paradise of childhood loves that Baudelaire recalled is for many a future in reverse, an obverse of hope in the face of the gray purgatory of adult loves. ↗

— Julio Cortázar

#past #love