Albert Camus Quotes
Thus, in a middle course between these heights and depths, they drifted through life rather than lived, the prey of aimless days and sterile memories, like wandering shadows that could have acquired substance only by consenting to root themselves in the solid earth of their distress.
Quotes to Explore
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I am a complete sentimentalist when it comes to clothes. I have so many memories attached to them that I can't throw anything out.
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Every passion borders on the chaotic, but the collector's passion borders on the chaos of memories.
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To me the ego is the habitual and compulsive thought processes that go through everybody's mind continuously. External things like possessions or memories or failures or successes or achievements. Your personal history.
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Time dissolves in summer anyway: days are long, weekends longer. Hours get all thin and watery when you are lost in the book you'd never otherwise have time to read. Senses are sharper - something about the moist air and bright light and fruit in season - and so memories stir and startle.
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A lot of my childhood memories involve walking home in floods of tears. At that age, feeling unpopular is difficult to handle.
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Growing up in Poland, I didn't have the experience of going to Disneyland as a child, so I don't have any childhood memories connected to it, good or bad.
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On a very personal level, I have fond memories of spending a lot of time in the Library of Congress working on my collection of poems 'Native Guard.' I was there over a summer doing research in the archives and then writing in the reading room at the Jefferson building.
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Things don't really impress me. Memories impress me. It's not the toys, it's the people.
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Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!I feel ye now - I feel ye in your strength.
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Far away I've travelledTo stand once more alone.And hear my memories echoThrough these hills that I call home.As a child I roamed this valley,I watched the seasons come and go.I spent many hours dreamingOn these hills that I call home.
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Ooo there's a thin line between dreams and memoriesI'll be losin' my mind 'til she comes back to me.
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I like to celebrate my life. I have a life that I'm really lucky to have, and so I want to make sure every minute counts and that I go on great vacations and I share my memories with people that I love and that will make me laugh and lalalalalala.
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I have very fond memories of the Eagles from my experience with 'Invincible' and my college days in Philadelphia. But I am a Massachusetts girl and a Pats fan.
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My dad leaving my life. That's the biggest thing that happened to me. I just remember what he tells me, the memories, and try to move on forward each day, knowing that he's still here, looking down on me.
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My first and strongest memories about perfume come from childhood, from my mother, and they are a complex blend of her private and public selves.
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I don't mind being an only child; never have. I am lucky, though, that I have my friend Emily, who grew-up very close to me and so, there is someone I have shared memories with. I would miss that if I didn't have it, I think.
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If you don't have your experiences in the moment, if you gloss them over with jokes or zoom past them, you end up with curiously dispassionate memories.
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An awful lot of people have childhood memories of holidays in Cornwall, and the holidays are old-fashioned and hugely successful. You stick a child and a dog on one of the beaches, and they just light up; they just love it.
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I'll note you in my book of memory.
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Chess you don't learn, chess you understand.
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How high a price we pay for the burden of habit! I am fitted for life here where I do not want to be, I want to live there but am unfit for it, and on both counts I am miserable.
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No one is more dangerous than someone who thinks he has "The Truth". To be an atheist is almost as arrogant as to be a fundamentalist. But then again, I can get pretty arrogant.
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Thus, in a middle course between these heights and depths, they drifted through life rather than lived, the prey of aimless days and sterile memories, like wandering shadows that could have acquired substance only by consenting to root themselves in the solid earth of their distress.
