There is something sad about clothes laid in a tomb of trunks.

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...

At the age of 12 I won the school prize for Best English Essay. The prize was a copy of Somerset Maugham's 'Introduction To Modern English And American Literature.' To this day I keep it on the shelf...

It isn't so astonishing the number of things that I can remember as the number of things I can remember that aren't so.

Even in death she was more beautiful to him than she ever was alive.

Give full attention to life's moments and the images you capture will be everlasting.

Grandma Hutto's flower garden was a bright patchwork quilt thrown down inside the pickets.

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...

His ghost comes back to be remembered. If he can't be in this life, he procures a way to stay in orbit, and in that way, is never forgotten.

He was in a strange, badly lit room, wearing even stranger clothes, getting an earful from an unknown woman, in a language that he could and couldn't exactly place in a very disturbing way. These were...

Folks double my age and older often run down a conversation tracking a vanishing world that will, with the passing of their memory, vanish entirely.

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

I'll try to be around and about. But if I'm not, then you know that I'm behind your eyelids, and I'll meet you there

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

Whenever we look at a photograph, the memories in the photograph become our memories as well!

Remembering our loved ones is breathing life into their fading images, that we might once more see their faces and pass along a tearful I miss you.

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!

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

I want to remember warming your two a.m. bottle, clipping your locks, watching you be baptized, bathing you in the big porcelain sink… how I often laid you against my chest and felt the cradlesong...

You live through each memory you have hidden inside me. Through the places, we had been to and through the songs, which only we have sung and heard. Every night, I lie down and look at the sky gazing...

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,...

They live in human memory, man. That's what keeps them alive.

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

I will not exorcise you - I'd miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

Time laughs in the distance as I cling to the belief memories of you will fade.

I am suspended in the moment. Flickering images faded with age, frozen thoughts hovering precariously in dead space, a whirlwind of memories that slice through my soul.

I'm thinking about past events. I'm interested in recall, exact recall, of what was said, who said it and to whom. I want to know the truth, undistorted by time and revision and wishes and regrets.

Since childhood, I was afflicted with a sick hypersensitivity, and my imagination quickly turned everything into a memory, too quickly: sometimes one day was enough, or an interval of a few hours, or...

If there's one thing I've still got, it's my memory. Which is too bad. Maybe if I forgot things once in a while, we'd all be a little bit happier.