#memories

...every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?... ↗

— John Geddes

#hair-color #love #memories #love

So, we skipped Annabel, and discussed condoms. I said I liked the orange ones, and we ended our talk in laughter. ↗

— Steven Herrick

#memories #love

Songs and smells will bring you back to a moment in time more than anything else. It's amazing how much can be conjured with a few notes of a song or a solitary whiff of a room. ↗

— Emily Giffin

#love #memories #songs #inspirational

You know how sometimes you remember a place you once loved, a movie you’ve enjoyed, only to be disappointed when you return to that place or see that movie for a second time? Well, it wasn’t disappointing. She sounds exactly as I remember her—and there is still something so warm and caring about her that it is difficult to hate her for how she abandoned us. ↗

— Christina Westover

#inspiration #literary-quote #memories #poisoning-sylvie #recapturing-memories

(Riku and Mickey walk towards DiZ, who stands at the middle of an intersection) Riku: What are you making me choose now? DiZ: Will you take the road to light — or the road to darkness? Riku: Neither. I'm taking the middle road. (Riku walks past DiZ) DiZ: You mean the twilit road to nightfall? (Riku turns around) Riku: No...The road to dawn. ↗

— Square Enix

#kingdom-hearts-chain-of-memories #riku #inspirational

Your memories don't possess you, you possess your memories. ↗

— Guy T. Simpson Jr.

#memories #inspirational

Reflection is a good thing. It allows us to look back in time so we can connect the dots between specific memories to reveal the purpose and meaning behind synchronistic events. ↗

— Molly Friedenfeld

#connect-dots #inspiration #inspirational-quotes #life-purpose #memories

Resting on the roots of this old oak I lean back against his knotted trunk, shine my granny smith on my sleeve And ponder the days… ↗

— Kellie Elmore

#children #coming-of-age #cute #dreamer #dreams

Thinking so hard on her soft eyes and memories of the signs that it's over. It's over. ↗

— Jeff Buckley

#hard #her #memories #over #signs

A boy from Brooklyn used to cruise on summer nights. As soon as he’d hit sixty he’d hold his hand out the window, cupping it around the wind. He’d been assured this is exactly how a woman’s breast feels when you put your hand around it and apply a little pressure. Now he knew, and he loved it. Night after night, again and again, until the weather grew cold and he had to roll the window up. For many years afterwards he was perpetually attempting to soar. One winter’s night, holding his wife’s breast in his hand, he closed his eyes and wanted to weep. He loved her, but it was the wind he imagined now. As he grew older, he loved the word etcetera and refused to abbreviate it. He loved sweet white butter. He often pretended to be playing the organ. On one of his last mornings, he noticed the shape of his face molded in the pillow. He shook it out, but the next morning it reappeared. ↗

— Mary Ruefle

#life #love #memories #age