I really cherish the memories I have of my trips. For some reason, when you travel, it's like your mind picks up on the fact that this is something uncharacteristic, so it tunes in more acutely and...

Whenever I think of my birthplace, Walton-on-Thames, my reference first and foremost is the river. I love the smell of the river; love its history, its gentleness. I was aware of its presence from my...

I wiped my hands on my apron and went to the window. Outside, the prairie reached out and touched the places where the sky came down. Though the winter was nearly over, there were patches of snow and...

I remember a new heaviness in my body, but maybe that's the work of time and my looking back.

We all have our safe places, where none are invited. They are lonely rooms full of the musk of memory. Sanctuary rather than adventure.

Memories are powerful that way. They can bring back to another place and time and make them laugh or cry all over again.

I need to remember what they look like. I try to hold them still behind my eyes, their faces, like pictures in an album. But they won't stay still for me, they move, there's a smile and it's gone,...

That is my story. Believe what you will. I remember it all

I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.

In the space of solitude, a writer attempts to remember how they became whom they are but nobody's memory is up to this demanding task. No matter how much a person harrows the fertile lanes of memory,...

I do not know, nor do I care to remember The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone You fade in and out of memory Upon which I can not feign to touch Or feel How cruel to leave me With...

Memory fills my night Help make my pain and memories light In your arms I find comfort Guide me in my days Hold me in Thy arms Help me Lord, this night

And then this happened. And then this other thing happened. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you about the time this happened. I should've had this book over for a cup of coffee and a chat.

It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us... on the inside, looking out.

This larder of memories, of sex, of life, of family that we had built up, could always be called upon in the leaner times of our relationship... Everything we had built together over twenty years was...

The only thing more painful than being an active forgetter is to be an inert rememberer.

Once upon a time wasn't as long ago as it used to be.

People always stay the age that they died at. My big brother died of leukemia when I was six. He was eight. Now when I think of him, he's always eight, and he's still my big brother. He never changes,...

Memories are worse than bullets

A song can last long after the events and people in it are dust and dreams and gone.

Life is a perpetual yesterday for us.

human beings do not perceive things whole; we are not gods but wounded creatures, cracked lenses, capable only of fractured perceptions

Life, he knew, had meaning and was fully possessed only as it was remembered and reshaped.

Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark.

Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that.You forget some things, dont you?Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you...

He saw that it was the gaps that were important, the spaces between the threads which made the pattern, and not the threads themselves.

By changing our history and our memory, they try to erase all our shame.

I have a pretty good memory, but memories are time beings, too, like cherry blossoms or ginkgo leaves; for a while they are beautiful, and then they fade and die.

She knew with suddeness and ease that this moment would be with her always, within hand's reach of memory.She doubted if they all sensed it - they had seen the world - but even George was silent for a...

For some reason, I kept seeing it-it trembled and silkily glowed on my damp retina-a radiant child of twelve, sitting on a threshold, "pinging" pebbles at an empty can.