Memories Quotes
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Music seems hard-wired into our very being. It moves us, stirs us to action, sets us in motion, sticks in our memories and minds.
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Remember that time slurs over everything, let all deeds fade, blurs all writings and kills all memories. Exempt are only those which dig into the hearts of men by love.
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The body is the one thing you have to say goodbye to. You can hold on to your memories. You can hold on to the spirit. That's part of the package that you love and the part that comforts you.
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The best alpinists are the ones with the worst memories.
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I love to dance, and sing - in the shower, not in public. I'm too old to go raving, but my fondest memories are of that kind of thing - dancing, with lots of people, outside if possible.
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Music is the art which is most nigh to tears and memories.
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Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is best not to stir them.
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I want to be known as A.J. Styles, the WWE Superstar that he is, and have amazing matches, make memories - I think that's the goal.
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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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One of my favorite memories from growing up in Brazil is being in the kitchen with my family and watching everyone bake and cook.
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What I remember most about high school are the memories I created with my friends.
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Memories have huge staying power, but like dreams, they thrive in the dark, surviving for decades in the deep waters of our minds like shipwrecks on the sea bed.
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My memories are inside me - they're not things or a place - I can take them anywhere.
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Mum left school at 15, and after a few years of modelling and dating jazz musicians, was married by 21 to my father, Mike Taylor, a journalist on the 'Daily Mirror.' They had my brother and me pretty quickly and had split up by the time I was two. I don't really have any memories of them as a couple.
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Both expectations and memories are more than mere images founded on previous experience.
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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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My mom is awesome. She's really young. My mom is 40, and she raised me listening to Nirvana and Courtney Love and Coldplay, Gin Blossoms, The Cranberries, and stuff. Like, my early, early memories are of being a little kid running around in floral skirts and Doc Martens when I was, like, three.
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And I've been walking 'round with memories way too long.
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People used to say my son looked like a Mexican Biggie. And when he was first born, memories of Biggie... you know, we didn't always have the greatest days. For at least half the length of our marriage we were separated, so everyday was definitely not a good day.
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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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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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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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No matter where we come from or where we're going, we've all got memories to contend with, and it's always best not to do this alone!
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I guess I had fun doing it but it has hard memories for me.
