Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can’t face them, we deny reason itself!

Close your eyes in the black night. Store sweet and beautiful memories in your heart. Surrender yourself in front of glorious dreams. Have faith in

I’m glad we had the times together just to laugh and sing a song, seems like we just got started and then before you know it, the times we had together were gone.

When you live in past memories of a relationship or a job more than the present, maybe it’s time to give up and move on.

I remember my mother’s prayers and they have always followed me. They have clung to me all my life.

My brain at 3 AM:
I can see you’re trying to sleep, so I would like to offer you a selection of every memory, unresolved issue, or things you should have said or done today as well as in the past 10 years.

We were together. I forget the rest.

I’ve had good times and I’ve had bad times and I reminisce, maybe when I lay down, but throughout my day I keep myself engulfed in whatever moment I’m in because it could steer me into a depressed state.

Yes, all of my memories are precious to me. Every. Single. One.

Since when have you been so talkative about our family matters? You’re planning on erasing Miss Honda’s memories, aren’t you, just like in the old

Kyo Sohma: You know, she always used to leave that window in her room wide open.
Yuki Sohma: What were you doing in her room?
Kyo Sohma:

It’s Haru. I feel like… I haven’t seen his face in a long time. Before this happened… There were a few times we played together.

Am I just getting what I deserve? Is this my punishment for blindly following orders? For stripping away people’s memories, regardless of how much pain

Often times in memory, we have the tendency to overly romanticize the people we care about.

I want to create crazy memories with you.

When the brain has no thought to chew on, no memory to revisit, and no past or future situation to imagine, it then has only one desire: falling asleep.Delbert Curti

The times that were most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly gone she was.

I want to believe that memories, even sad and painful ones, should not be forgotten forever.

Brain: I can see you’re trying to sleep, can I offer a selection of your worst memories from the last 10 years?

Let old memories and failures slip away and embrace the new month with a smile and appreciation. Dream new dreams, set new goals, and aim a little higher.

I was sentimental about many things: a woman’s shoes under the bed; one hairpin left behind on the dresser; the way they said, “I’m going to pee.” hair ribbons; walking down the boulevard with them at 1:30 in the afternoon, just two people walking together; the long nights of drinking and smoking; talking; the arguments; thinking of suicide; eating together and feeling good; the jokes; the laughter out of nowhere; feeling miracles in the air; being in a parked car together; comparing past loves at 3am; being told you snore; hearing her snore; mothers, daughters, sons, cats, dogs; sometimes death and sometimes divorce; but always carrying on, always seeing it through; reading a newspaper alone in a sandwich joint and feeling nausea because she’s now married to a dentist with an I.Q. of 95; racetracks, parks, park picnics; even jails; her dull friends; your dull friends; your drinking, her dancing; your flirting, her flirting; her pills, your fucking on the side and her doing the same; sleeping together.

we were in her big oak
bed
facing south
so much of the rest of the
time
that I memorized
each wrinkle in the
drapes
and especially
all the cracks in the
ceiling.

I used to play games with
her with that ceiling.

“see those cracks up
there?”

“where?”

“look where I’m pointing…”

“o.k.”

“now, see those cracks, see the
pattern? it forms and image. do you see
what it is?”

“umm, umm …”

“go on, what is it?”

“I know! It’s a man on top of a woman!”

“wrong. it’s a flamingo standing
by a stream.”

. . .

we finally got free of
one another.
it’s sad but it’s
standard operating procedure
(I am constantly confused by
the lack of durability in human
affairs).

I suppose the parting was
unhappy
maybe even ugly.
it’s been 3 or 4
years now
and I wonder if she
ever thinks of
me, of what I am doing?

I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.

a gold pocket
watch

my grandfather was a tall German
with a strange smell on his breath.
he stood very straight
in front of his small house
and his wife hated him
and his children thought him odd.
I was six the first time we met
and he gave me all his war medals.
the second time I met him
he gave me his gold pocket watch.
it was very heavy and I took it home
and wound it very tight
and it stopped running
which made me feel bad.
I never saw him again
and my parents never spoke of him
nor did my grandmother
who had long ago
stopped living with him.
once I asked about him
and they told me
he drank too much
but I liked him best
standing very straight
in front of his house
and saying “hello, Henry, you
and I, we know each other.”

Let’s make some happy memories together, just you and I.

I have embraced many beautiful memories in my life but the one I admire the most was when I met you.

I’ll never forget the first time you looked at me and how we fell in love.

I never want to stop making memories with you.

It’s not like that…I really have any memories of it…but God and the Zodiacs Spirit made a promise. I’m sure of it. A long time, hundreds of years ago. To be together… …For eternity. Even if they were reborn several times… They would go his side, and never leave. They would go to see him. They would always… Always…to be together. We Member of the Zodiac are still bound by that promise. Even with no memories of it. The Blood of the Spirits remembers. A bond may look like a beautiful thing from the outside…but if those involved see it as a burden, it’s nothing but a shackle. That’s why it’s a curse.

Repeat the good. And the bad. Do it all…and pile on the years.

Making memories with you is my favorite thing to do.

Even if I don’t see you, I will never lose sight of you in my mind.

My heart was breaking on my way home that day. I was crying ugly tears because I could feel it yet again…the feeling of something fading away. Fading away into ‘memories.’ And even if I don’t forget the loneliness and sorrow that tore me apart…the memories themselves are fading, too. No matter how much I try to hold on…no matter how many times I swear it to myself…time moves on, and they begin to fade. It’s cruel.

Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.

Thank you for finding me. Even I had abandoned the me from that day by forgetting. But you kept her in your memory. Thank you.

I won’t get to hear you say, “Welcome home,” to me anymore, will I, Honda-san? But…but I’m happy for you too. The “me” who’s arrived at this point is happy for you. I…I was always…so weak. I wasn’t good at making connections with other people, but I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be needed. I yearned for those things…and then, one day, you came into my life. You made those dreams come true. You granted my wishes without asking for anything in return. You gave me so much. And it’s because of that that I can stand in front of you here today. You helped me become a full-fledged “human being.” You helped me grow as a person. You…were like a mother to me. I was finally able to tell you that. I know my true feelings are a little on the embarrassing side…but, you know, it’s the same for them too, I think. Your presence is so warm and kind…so even though we’re all going our separate ways now, starting new lives in new places, every so often, we’ll still think of you. “Is she doing well? She’s not crying, is she? Is she smiling even now? Is she happy today too?” That’s how we’ll always think of you. Thank you…I’m so glad I met you. I’m so glad you were here… Thank you, thank you, thank you… Tohru.

The afternoon light brightening the green in her eyes, her tan skin the last memory of fall.

“All I remember is that she had a lot of sex.”

“I know. She’s my hero,” Alaska said without a trace of irony.

Best day of my life was January 9, 1997. I was eight years old and my mom and I went to the zoo on a class trip. I liked the bears. She liked the monkeys. Best day ever. End of story.

I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day for the rest of my life?

I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn’t think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory – recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten.

I will start anew
I will make amends
and I will make quite certain
that the story ends
on a note of hope
on a strong amen
and I’ll thank the world
and remember when
I was able to begin again!

When every memory has been made and the pages start to fade. And every prayer you ever prayed is heaven bound. When you think the ride is over, you’re back at the beginning. Love is never-ending.

I want a new past, new memories, a new first handshake with love. I want to start over in every possible way.

My love, I wish you everlasting wisdom, booming confidence, and cherished memories for the day ahead! Good Morning to you!

I don’t need those memories, Kai. We can make new ones. We… can start over. Just like we’ve met only yesterday.

I used to drag here back in high school. That railroad crossing up there is exactly a quarter-mile away from here. On green, I’m going for it.

January is a fresh start for all of us. It’s a beautiful new beginning! Let’s all make this month one to remember.

That scene in the office stayed with me. Those cigars, the fine clothes. I thought of good steaks, long
rides up winding driveways that led to beautiful homes. Ease. Trips to Europe. Fine women. Were they
that much more clever than I? The only difference was money, and the desire to accumulate it.
I’d do it too! I’d save my pennies. I’d get an idea, I’d spring a loan. I’d hire and fire. I’d keep whiskey in
my desk drawer. I’d have a wife with size 40 breasts and an ass that would make the paperboy on the
corner come in his pants when he saw it wobble. I’d cheat on her and she’d know it and keep silent in
order to live in my house with my wealth. I’d fire men just to see the look of dismay on their faces. I’d
fire women who didn’t deserve to be fired.

My dad was a truck driver, and from the time I was knee high to a grapevine, I was driving a truck.

I grew up with a truck. My dad had one, so I like trucks.

I went through the door, and I remember going into an empty classroom and thinking that I was too early. When actually, what happened was all the parents rushed in, removed their kids and never sent them back. I spent the whole year in an empty classroom with just my teacher.

That first morning I remember mom saying as I got dressed in my new outfit, ‘Now, I want you to behave yourself today, Ruby, and don’t be afraid. There might be a lot of people outside this new school, but I’ll be with you.’

I remember the first time seeing myself on TV, when my family was watching the documentary ‘Eyes on the Prize’ for the first time. There were pictures of people going up the school stairs, and Mom said, ‘Oh, that’s you!’ I said, ‘I can’t believe this. This is important.’

I remember turning onto the street. I saw barricades and police officers and, just, people everywhere. When I saw all of that, I immediately thought that it was Mardi Gras. I had no idea that they were here to keep me out of the school.

Closure is when raw memory blurs to become the folklore of life.

I don’t think there are any memories that are okay to forget. None. I think…. I want to live with all my memories. Even if they’re sad memories. Even if their memories that only hurt me. Even if they’re memories I’d rather forget. If I keep them and keep trying, without running away… If I keep trying, then someday…I’ll be strong enough that those memories can’t defeat me. I want to think that there’s no such thing as a memory that’s okay to forget.

She hadn’t slept. She lay in bed the entire night, the day’s events tumbling in her head like clothes in a dryer.

No one can ever take your memories from you – each day is a new beginning, make good memories every day.

“Your rote memorization is, like, so impressive,” I said.
“You guys are like an old married couple.” Alaska smiled. “In a creepy way.”

My favorite songs are my favorite songs because they just feel like a certain moment, or a certain photo, just a snapshot for whatever three or four minutes the song is.

It was broken. It was haunted. Just like her.
But it had bones, and it had memories, and it had the ability to be something strong again. Just like her.

If memories were all I sang, I’d rather drive a truck.

There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public. There are worse things than these miniature betrayals, committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things than not being able to sleep for thinking about them. It is 5 a.m. All the worse things come stalking in and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse.

And I will remember how we made the sun blush every morning.

Perhaps it’s something other than insomnia, to lie listening to children yelling as if they’ve re-created light; to try to dream, but succeed only in remembering; to toss and sweat in a dirty paste of sheets, while the drone of a ball game is gradually replaced by the buzz of a fly — a fly buzzing like the empty frequencies between stations as its shadow grows enormous between the shade and windowpane. Is it insomnia for a man to wad his ears with the cotton from a pill bottle, to mask his eyes with blinders, and press a stale pillow over his head, praying for another day to burn down, so he can wake into another night?

I’m so tired. Sleep’s been stalking me for too long to remember. Inevitable I suppose.

The scary thing about having insomnia is not the hours lost for sleeping but the re-run of thoughts you’ve been trying to forget.

I’ve been a barber since I was in high school and have honed my craft over the years. Every haircut is a memory.

Englishmen are not usually softened by appeals to the memory of their mothers.

Whenever I look at a Mexican I will think of you. Whenever you look at that jackass you think of me, OK?

If you don’t do wild things while you’re young, you’ll have nothing to smile about when you’re old.

Just like that, the journey is over, depression is finished, and you’re on your way back to the world of the living, smiling, regular people. The road has been paved with dickheads, backstabbers, and pains in the f**kin’ ass but memories were made, allies were had, pole smokers were toppled, and the truth was discovered.

I’ve had a lot of memories and sometimes, I have to dump the small ones to make room for the bigger ones. But sometimes, when you try to dump the smaller ones, you think they’re gone but they’re not. They’re sitting there, waiting to pick up exactly where they left off. No matter if there are new memories standing in their way or not.