Memories Quotes
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I'm proud of what I achieved there, but a life built on memories is not much of a life.
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The older generations are too wedded to political parties, too wedded to romantic memories of what education was like when they were kids, and too wedded to the status quo group that clings to power.
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I spent my childhood in Delhi. I have met my wife here. I spent my life here with my parents and sister. It's been beautiful. But I have very fond memories.
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And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
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It is not fun singing about losing somebody like that, but at the same time it was easy to write because the memories were so real and vivid and so much a part of who I am.
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We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
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Many great works of art, poetry, and music are inspired by astral memories. The desire to do noble, beautiful things here on Earth is also often a carryover of astral experiences between a person's earth lives.
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Memories are thoughts that arise. They're not realities. Only when you believe that they are real, then they have the power over you. But when you realize it's just another thought arising about the past, then you can have a spacious relationship with that thought. The thought no longer has you in its grip.
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If dreams are like movies, then memories are films about ghosts.
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I cannot believe that 'Pinocchio' is over yet, and I always think about so many great memories that I made while playing in the drama.
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Memories and loneliness look backward, fear looks around, but faith always looks forward.
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My dream is to stand in front of 60,000 people in an arena and know that everyone came because they wanted to make memories with me.
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I construct my memories with my present. I am lost, abandoned in the present. I try in vain to rejoin the past: I cannot escape.
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My memories of events and games are fragmented.
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Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.
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Family holidays and weekends are really brightly colored memories, full of my mother and father, rather than our nannies and au pairs.
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Human memory is a marvelous but fallacious instrument. The memories which lie within us are not carved in stone; not only do they tend to become erased as the years go by, but often they change, or even increase by incorporating extraneous features.
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Teaching was my first job after leaving university. It was a challenge, but I enjoyed it. Some of the kids were disruptive, but I could deal with it because I was only 24 at the time, and my own school memories were still fresh.
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As I trace the route to his apartment, the twists and turns, and pass once more the old tree opposite his house, I am struck by a sudden thought: memories have ways of becoming independent of the reality they evoke. They can soften us against those we were deeply hurt by or they can make us resent those we once accepted and loved unconditionally.
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I was a B.I.G. fan. I like all of his stuff. I don't really have a favorite song. They all are good, and each brings different memories to me. And you can still listen to it to this day and it means something.
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How confusing the beams from memory's lamp are; One day a bachelor, the next a grampa. What is the secret of the trick? How did I get so old so quick?
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I have fond memories of all things Henson. I grew up on the stuff. My mom's a massive fan and made sure it was a part of my upbringing.
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People often ask where I get my inspiration from, and I always say I have no good answer because, well, inspiration comes from everywhere: people, places, memories.
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For me, one of my earliest memories of politics where I thought that I could do anything was when Walter Mondale of Minnesota picked Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate. I literally remember what she wore - the red dress, the white pearls. And I saw that, and I thought, 'Anything is possible.'
