Memories And Love Quotes (page 3)
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Moon, that against the lintel of the west
Your forehead lean until the gate be swung,
Longing to leave the world and be at rest,
Being worn with faring and no longer young,
Do you recall at all the Carian hill
Where worn with loving, loving late you lay,
Halting the sun because you lingered still,
While wondering candles lit the Carian day?
Ah, if indeed this memory to your mind
Recall some sweet employment, pity me,
That even now the dawn's dim herald see!
I charge you, goddess, in the name...
Edna St. Vincent Millay
What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms . . . or the memory of a brother's smile? Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.
George R. R. Martin
Two gallons is a great deal of wine, even for two paisanos. Spiritually the jugs maybe graduated thus: Just below the shoulder of the first bottle, serious and concentrated conversation. Two inches farther down, sweetly sad memory. Three inches more, thoughts of old and satisfactory loves. An inch, thoughts of bitter loves. Bottom of the first jug, general and undirected sadness. Shoulder of the second jug, black, unholy despondency. Two fingers down, a song of death or longing. A thumb,...
John Steinbeck
They say that Hope is happinessBut genuine Love must prize the past;And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless:They rose first -- they set the last.And all that mem'ry loves the mostWas once our only hope to be:And all that hope adored and lostHath melted into memory.Alas! It is delusion all--The future cheats us from afar:Nor can we be what we recall,Nor dare we think on what we are.
George Byron
I am, yet what I am none cares or knowsMy friends forsake me like a memory lostI am the self-consumer of my woesThey rise and vanish in oblivious hostLike shadows in love's frenzied, stifled throesAnd yet I am, and live, like vapours tossedInto the nothingness of scorn and noiseInto the living sea of waking dreamsWhere there is neither sense of life or joysBut the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;Even the dearest, that I loved the bestAre strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest
John Clare
Without memories, without hope, they lived for the moment only. indeed, the here and now had come to mean everything to them. For there is no denying that the plague had gradually killed off in all of us the faculty not of love only but even of friendship. Naturally enough, since love asks something of the future, and nothing was left us but a series of present moments.
Albert Camus
At the start of a new love as its ending, we are not exclusively attached to the object of that love, but rather the desire to love from which it will presently arise (and, later on, the memory it leaves behind) wanders voluptuously through a zone of interchangeable charms -- simply natural charms, it may be, gratification of appetite, enjoyment of one's surroundings -- which are harmonious enough for it not to feel at a loss in the presence of any one of them.
Marcel Proust
For the eternity that Lux Lisbon looked at him, Trip Fontaine looked back, and the love he felt at that moment, truer than all subsequent loves because it never had to survive real life, still plagued him, even now in the desert, with his looks and health wasted. 'You never know what'll set the memory off,' he told us. 'A baby's face. A bell on a cat's collar. Anything.'They didn't exchange a single word. But in the weeks that followed, Trip spent his days wandering the halls, hoping for...
Jeffrey Eugenides
He wanted to tell her that he was inspired and vigilant and recklessly alone, that his body contained his unsteady heart and something else, something he felt but could not describe: porous and spiky, shifting with flecks of thought, with urge and memory; salted with brightness, flickerings of white and green and pale gold; something that loved stars because it was made of the same substance.
Michael Cunningham
I grow old though pleased with my memories. The tasks I can no longer complete. Are balanced by the love of the tasks gone past. I offer no apology onlythis plea: When I am frayed and strained and drizzle at the end. Please someone cut a square and put me in a quilt. That I might keep some child warm. And some old person with no one else to talk to. Will hear my whispers. And cuddlenear
Nikki Giovanni
The first thing the boy Garion remembered was the kitchen at Faldor's farm. For all the rest of his life he had a special warm feeling for kitchens and those peculiar sounds and smells that seemed somehow to combine into a bustling seriousness that had to do with love and food and comfort and security and, above all, home. No matter how high Garion rose in life, he never forgot that all his memories began in that kitchen.
David Eddings
The accumulation of consecutive rooms in his memory now resembled those displays of grouped elbow chairs on show, and beds, and lamps, and inglebooks which, ignoring all space-time distinctions, commingle in the soft light of a furniture store beyond which it snows, and the dusk deepens, and nobody really loves anybody.
Vladimir Nabokov