#memories

I answer the heroic question, 'Death, where is thy sting?' with 'It is in my heart and mind and memories. ↗

— Maya Angelou

#heartache #memories #death

It is as if people refused to leave their dead alone, forced them back into the light, made them keep their composure even in death. ↗

— Bernhard Schlink

#memories #death

The sudden loss of her father was like living with a wound that would never heal, yet her memories of him were fading more and more every day. ↗

— Frank Beddor

#daughter #death #father #loss #memories

Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty. ↗

— Jenny Han

#childhood-memories #eight #memories #nostalgia #death

In a person's lifetime there may be not more than half a dozen occasions that he can look back to in the certain knowledge that right then, at that moment, there was room for nothing but happiness in his heart. ↗

— Ernestine Gilbreth Carey

#happiness #life #memories #moments #satisfaction

There is so little to remember of anyone - an anecdote, a conversation at a table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming habitual fondness not having meant to keep us waiting long. ↗

— Marilynne Robinson

#dreams

Some memories are presents that I'm unable to unwrap over and over. ↗

— Brian James

#dreams

Souls and memories can do strange things during trance. ↗

— Bram Stoker

#dreams #memories #strange #dreams

Rich dreams now which he was loathe to wake from. Things no longer known in the world. The cold drove him forth to mend the fire. Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not. ↗

— Cormac McCarthy

#dreams

Perhaps the rest of the world was gone. It was the most plausible answer. Heaven knows she couldn’t see or think of anyone else. That must be the answer, they were the only two people left, as the Earth spun into a timeless abyss. Claire once read time doesn’t pass at normal speeds within a black hole. If one were to travel into a black hole for only moments and return again, centuries would have passed. That explained the sensation she felt, once again peering into his dark gaze. She wouldn’t look away; she’d trained herself better than that. Then again, she reasoned, it wasn’t an option. She couldn’t divert her gaze if she wanted. The hold upon her stare was stronger than any ropes or chains made by man. Claire knew from experience, submitting to the hold was her best chance at survival. Fighting was a futile waste of energy. ↗

— Aleatha Romig

#memories #power-of-thoughts #romig #truth #experience