#remembering

Sitting on the floor, I'd replay the past in my head. Funny, that's all I did, day after day after day for half a year, and I never tired of it. What I'd been through seemed so vast, with so many facets. Vast, but real, very real, which was why the experience persisted in towering before me, like a monument lit up at night. And the thing was, it was a monument to me. ↗

— Haruki Murakami

#memories #past #real #remembering #surreal

Morality, like language, is an invented structure for conserving and communicating order. And morality is learned, like language, by mimicking and remembering. ↗

— Jane Rule

#conserving #invented #language #learned #like

One day this war will end. And when it does, Tule Lake will be just a memory. ↗

— Teresa R. Funke

#japanese-internment #life #remembering #war #world-war-ii

I remembered during puberty, through the anorexic mists of intermittent menstrual cycles, that man, my father, lifting Shirley's nightdress over her head and asking her in his mocking way to choose what colour condom she wanted. 'Red or yellow?' Which did she choose? I can't remember. Perhaps she alternated. Perhaps there were other colours. It didn't happen once. It happened again and again. I had no power to stop it. That man, my father, had some control over me. I was drugged by the black silence in that big house, the vile whiff of aftershave, the crushing torment of inevitability. My father fucked Shirley using red or yellow condoms and it was those condoms that brought it all to an end. It was my last realization of the day; any more would have been too much to contemplate. That time when my mother had found used condoms in bedroom, he had admitted, after a pointless burst my father's of denial, that he had been going to prostitutes. That was no doubt true but I can't imagine clients take used condoms away with them; prostitutes would surely get rid of the things. No. My father kept those used condoms as a prize. He was fucking his fourteen-year-old-daughter. He was proud of it. Rebecca welled up with tears. Poor thing, she kept saying. Poor thing. ↗

— Alice Jamieson

#child-abuse #child-rape #child-sexual-abuse #condoms #dissociation

[T]he whole point is the wishing and remembering--not if what you want happens, not if remembering hurts. Because when you wish for something, you're askin. And when you ask, you're trying. And all anyone can do really is try, right? ↗

— Melissa Senate

#trying #wishes #wishing #love

I wish I had a memory of that first violent shove, the shock of cold air, the sting of oxygen into new lungs. Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying. ↗

— Lauren DeStefano

#death #dying #remembering #death

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue. Now, I can’t look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter. Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips. A name I won’t throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought. And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form….. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart. ↗

— Coco J. Ginger

#love #love-story #memories #names #passion

I always have trouble remembering three things: faces, names, and - I can't remember what the third thing is. ↗

— Fred Allen

#faces #i #i always #names #remember

The kind of thing I'm good at is knowing every politician in the state and remembering where he itches. And I know where to scratch him. ↗

— Earl Long

#good #him #i #itches #kind

Take without forgetting, and give without remembering. ↗

— Bryant H. McGill

#give #remembering #take #without