Browsing Topic Best Memories Quotes

Grief is like the wake behind a boat. It starts out as a huge wave that follows close behind you and is big enough to swamp and drown you if you suddenly stop moving forward. But if you do keep moving, the big wake will eventually dissipate. And after a long time, the waters of your life get calm again, and that is when the memories of those who have left begin to shine as bright and as enduring as the stars above.

If you want to keep your memories, you first have to live them.

Sometimes you will never know the value of something, until it becomes a memory.

As you get older three things happen. The first is your memory goes, and I can’t remember the other two.

Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.

It takes a huge effort to free yourself from memory.

A hero is someone who has given his or her life to something bigger than oneself.

Only constant repetition will finally succeed in imprinting an idea on the memory of the crowd.

Always remember: Presence is far more important than presents, and magic comes from memories, not stuff.

We do not remember days, we remember moments.

A wounded heart will heal in time, and when it does, the memory and love of our lost ones is sealed inside to comfort us.

Never regret a day in your life: good days give happiness, bad days give experience, worst days give lessons, and best days give memories.

There is nothing permanent except change.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined – to strengthen each other – to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

The first step in the acquisition of wisdom is silence, the second listening, the third memory, the fourth practice, the fifth teaching others.

We each need to make peace with our own memories. We have all done things that make us flinch.

We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.

As you mature, you realize that some relationships are based purely on an attachment to the past – a shared history. But, they hold no real value in the now. Things are no longer the same, and that’s OK. You can move on with love and still enjoy the memories you created together.

A mother’s happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

In an ideal world we would all learn in childhood to love ourselves. We would grow, being secure in our worth and value, spreading love wherever we went, letting our light shine. If we did not learn self-love in our youth, there is still hope. The light of love is always in us, no matter how cold the flame. It is always present, waiting for the spark to ignite, waiting for the heart to awaken and call us back to the first memory of being the life force inside a dark place waiting to be born – waiting to see the light.

The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not… but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live in memories.

Human memory awakens and extinguishes at will. It dulls and sharpens actions, enlarges and shrinks those who perform them. It humbles and exalts as it desires. When summoned, it slips away, and when it returns, it will do so at the time and place that suits it. It recognizes no chief, no overseer, no classifier, no ruler. Stories mix and mingle, facts sprout new shoots. The situations and words and scents-oh, the scents!-encrusted there are stored in the most disorganized and wonderful manner, not chronologically, not according to size or importance or even the alphabet.

Also, where does your identity come from? Your memory, of course.

The mark of a Scot of all classes [is that] he … remembers and cherishes the memory of his forebears, good or bad; and there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the dead even to the twentieth generation.

Nothing can match the treasure of common memories.

Every song has a memory; every song has the ability to make or break your heart, shut down the heart, and open the eyes. But I’m afraid if you look at a thing long enough; it loses all of its meaning

We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle; easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we would still live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan.

All bad precedents begin as justifiable measures.

Language is memory and metaphor.

You are the architect of the memories that others will have about you.

Of my fifty-seven years I have applied at least thirty to forgetting most of what I have learned or read. Since then, I have acquired a certain ease and cheer which I should never again like to be without. (…) I have stored little in my memory, but I can apply that little, and it is of use in many and varied emergencies. I keep it in order, but resist every attempt to increase its dead weight.

Victory is everything. You can spend the money but you can never spend the memories.

The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won’t let go of your life: your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away, but they’re not punishing you, they’re freeing your soul. If you’re frightened of dying and you’re holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. If you’ve made your peace, then the devils are really angels freeing you from the earth.