He wore the memory of her embrace like armor, and though he knew it would not save his life, it would be all that was left to him to ease his passage into whatever lay beyond.
I watched the rows and rows of chappals left by devotees outside the Hindu temple and wondered if the homeless boys who sometimes steal our chickens ever steal them, and if they do, are they punished, and if so by whom?
Have you been reading those books that clueless illiterate Duja in charge of the lending library lets you borrow?’ ‘No, Ma.’ ‘Then what put you in mind of devils possessing nuns to take over the church?
You don’t live in luxury! You are relegated to sleep in the little store room behind the kitchen with the cockroaches and rats and are at the mercy of Mrs. Gupta,’ Reena was indignant. ‘It’s five-star accommodation compared to a mud hut.
She spilled rice on my knee, and she smiled. I wanted her to spill a thousand things on me, lava, acid, bricks, anything, and smile each time
I would like to be able to breathe— to be able to love her by memory or fidelity. But my heart aches. I love you continuously, intensely.
Dates are convenient hooks on which we can hang our memories of events. But history is all about people - people like you and me who did things to change the world.
I would give anything to have that memory back--to see what it was like between us when we loved each other enough to believe it was forever.
It is more than just memory, I think, that binds us to the past. The past is the place we view the present from as much as the other way around...
I think what you notice most when you haven’t been home in a while is how much the trees have grown around your memories.
I believe that that love remains strong and intense in your memory because it was your first deep aloneness and the first inner work that you did on your life.
When his brain died, all of the memories held in his gray matter, along with all of the knowledge he had acquired, would simply evaporate in a flood of chemical reactions.
The way those old memories kept bubbling to the surface in the present tense was disturbing. It was as if the past had never died; as if on some level of time's great tower, everything was still happening.
Sometimes the memories seemed too much and I couldn't understand how I'd stayed so calm when these things actually happened, but lost my breath in the shadowy remembrances.
Darkness crept through. Shadows pried at doors, teased dull edges of recollections that never quite took hold. Memories that would have shriveled under the blinding sun of daylight. And reason.
Good memories are like charms...Each is special. You collect them, one by one, until one day you look back and discover they make a long, colorful bracelet.
Infancy is irretrievable. Its memories live underground. To what extent they return by stealth or are triggered by various catalysts remains an ongoing question.
Since Percy’d lost his memory,his whole life was one big fillin-the-blank. He was____________________, from____________________. He felt like ____________________, and if the monsters caught him, he’d be____________________.
In the West we cling to the past like limpets. In Haiti the present is the axis of all life. As in Africa, past and future are but distant measures of the present, and memories are as meaningless as promises.
Come morning, his memory would be of a night spent watching over them all. And each of them - dog and boy, mother and old man - would feel the same.
She had not remembered then what she remembers now, a memory like something buried in river silt that finally works free and rises to the surface...
