Memories Quotes

I always wanted to be a father. I have a beautiful relationship with my dad and beautiful memories. I always knew I was going to have a family.

I've been writing an ongoing letter to my children since they were born, full of recollections of their childhoods. I've filled two journals. It's a great thing to do as a mother - you forget a lot as you go along, but reading over what you've written brings all the memories back.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

I still love making hamburgers on the grill. I guess whenever I eat them childhood memories come up for me.

The Jungian view of drama would be that it affects all of our imaginations and somehow taps into our hidden, ancient, primordial memories.

My grandmothers are full of memories, smelling of soap and onions and wet clay, with veins rolling roughly over quick hands, they have many clean words to say, my grandmothers were strong.

This story is based on a gentleman who indeed did... used to come to my parents' house in 1971 from Bangladesh. He was at the University of Rhode Island. And I was four, four years old, at the time, and so I actually don't have any memories of this gentleman.

The museums and parks are graveyards above the ground- congealed memories of the past that act as a pretext for reality.

Our dreams must be stronger than our memories. We must be pulled by our dreams, rater than pushed by our memories.

I have a lot of objects in my space, little things, reminders, memories.

In some instances, the accuracy of past-life memories can be objectively verified, sometimes with remarkable detail.

The horrors of the Second World War, the chilling winds of the Cold War and the crushing weight of the Iron Curtain are little more than fading memories. Ideals that once commanded great loyalty are now taken for granted.

Through the years, I have so many wonderful memories of playing with the Red Wings: winning four Stanley Cups, scoring big goals, going into battle every night side by side with my teammates, playing with every ounce of effort I could muster.

So much of what we do is ephemeral and quickly forgotten, even by ourselves, so it's gratifying to have something you have done linger in people's memories.

I am happy as happiness goes, for a woman who has so many memories and who lives the lonely life of an actress.

I say that I can't make anything up. I think of myself as a collage artist. I'm cutting and pasting memories of my life. And I say, I have to live a life in order to tell a life. I would prefer to tell it because telling you're always in control, you're like God.

Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.

My childhood wasn't full of wonderful culinary memories.

I did a movie called Marathon Man and it was one of my best memories.

I'm always coming up with ideas that have been inspired by memories, everyday life and this and that and the other.

I'd love to follow the Tour de France one day. It's a really exciting spectacle. I've only seen it once as it was coming into Paris and that was very exciting for me. I have memories of that.

I've always seen myself as one of those 'show people.' My earliest memories are wanting and needing to entertain people, like a gypsy traveler who goes from place to place, city to city, performing for audiences and reaching people.

This is how memories are made... by going with the flow.

My fondest memories were watching the Beastie Boys get prepped to come on stage. They had a lot of antics and they play a lot of basketball... then they were giving out cameras to the crowd, and performing from the bleachers. The most important thing I learned was that you control your crowd, not the other way around.

My first outdoor cooking memories are full of erratic British summers, Dad swearing at a barbecue that he couldn't put together, and eventually eating charred sausages, feeling brilliant.

My early childhood memories center around this typical American country store and life in a small American town, including 4th of July celebrations marked by fireworks and patriotic music played from a pavilion bandstand.

Our enemies are our evil deeds and their memories, our pride, our selfishness, our malice, our passions, which by conscience or by habit pursue us with a relentlessness past the power of figure to express.

One of my earliest memories is of my father carrying me in one arm with a picket sign in the other.

Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories. And the longer a song has existed in our lives, the more memories we have of it.

In the life of a singer, it's not all triumphs and happy memories; there are days you have to go out there when it's the last thing you feel like doing.