Sometimes life is a constant battle against the nostalgia of a time that can never be real again.
The Mission by Jason Myers
It helps sometimes to dwell on the good memories. They remind you that happiness does exist, though it may not seem that way now.
Dead Beautiful by Yvonne Woon
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.
I didn’t want it to be one good memory that led to a lot of bad ones. I wanted it to stay what it was, one amazing moment, something that was strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Something I could remember without any pain.
Perfect You by Elizabeth Scott
Did you ever think about all of the nights you lived through and can’t remember? The ones that were so mundane your brain just didn’t bother to record them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of nights come and go without being preserved by our memory. Does that ever freak you out? Like maybe your mind recorded all of the wrong nights?
Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick
Time moves in one direction, memory in another.
I need to know that you’ll think about the good times we shared, and never settle for anything less than how you felt in those moments.
When It Rains by Lisa De Jong
But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be recreated — not with the same joy.
A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
I guess it’s because I can’t help but to remember everything. I mean, you see somebody and you think about all they’ve ever said and done, the good and the bad. It all comes back to you and it feels so right and hurts so bad all at once.
Tell me how I’m supposed to forget you if you’re never really gone.
Experience had taught me that even the most precious memories fade with the passage of time.
The Wedding by Nicholas Sparks
I’ve learned that memories can have a physical, almost living presence.
Dear John by Nicholas Sparks
I pulled out the memory—nor a real memory that would hurt too much, but the false memory of Edward’s voice in my mind this afternoon—and played it over and over in my head until I fell asleep with the tears still streaming calmly down my empty face.