#memories

...what happens when you return and find nothing but a hollowed shell, shingles and floor, walls and echoes and the light that lead you here has now burned out and the ones who built it have traveled afar and you cant go to them, no matter what shoes you wear. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#dorothy #grief #grieving #heart #heartache

It was one of those rare times when remembering the dead was more inmportant than tending to the needs of the living. ↗

— Dean Koontz

#death-of-a-loved-one #memories #remembering #death

The train blows through town delivering reality, slapping my face and screaming, “You are alone” Rose colored memories drown, taking their last breath. ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#depression #grief #grieving #loneliness #loss

And I can promise you something, because it was a thing I saw many years later - a vision in the book thief herself - that as she knelt next to Hans Hubermann, she watched him stand and play the accordion. He stood and strapped it on in the alps of broken houses and played the accordion with kindness silver eyes and even a cigarette slouched on his lips. The bellows breathed and the tall man played for Liesel Meminger one last time as the sky was slowly taken away from her. ↗

— Markus Zusak

#memories #death

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

Discussing it later, many of us felt we suffered a mental dislocation at that moment, which only grew worse through the course of the remaining deaths. The prevailing symptom of this state was an inability to recall any sound. Truck doors slammed silently; Lux's mouth screamed silently; and the street, the creaking tree limbs, the streetlight clicking different colors, the electric buzz of the pedestrian crossing box - all these usually clamorous voices hushes, or had begun shrieking at a pitch too high for us to hear, though they sent chills up our spines. Sound returned only once Lux had gone. Televisions erupted with canned laughter. Fathers splashed, soaking aching backs. ↗

— Jeffrey Eugenides

#silence #death

What kind of miracle ripped out your heart, and left you breathing? ↗

— A.B. Shepherd

#life-and-living #pain #painful-memories #death

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