The past beats inside me like a second heart.
What we remember from childhood we remember forever — permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
Memories are the treasures that we keep locked deep within the storehouse of our souls, to keep our hearts warm when we are lonely.
Memory is the mother of all wisdom.
A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.
The happiest memories are of moments that ended when they should have.
Our memories are the only paradise from which we can never be expelled.
Memories are like mulligatawny soup in a cheap restaurant. It is best not to stir them.
To reminisce with my old friends, a chance to share some memories, and play our songs again.
Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.
The real moment has disappeared but you will always have the memories to remind you.
Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces.
The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.
Every man's memory is his private literature.
The heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good.
Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
The only paradise is paradise lost.