Top 585 Memories Quotes

Music seems hard-wired into our very being. It moves us, stirs us to action, sets us in motion, sticks in our memories and minds.

Devon holds a special place in my heart. As a child, I normally went on holiday to Bantham and have lots of happy memories from my time there. I used to catch sand eels in the early morning and go fishing for bass throughout the day. I remember a gull taking my bait.

Liverpool gave me a second home. I was 24, I left my team, my town, and I went there. My memories there are just amazing. I have no words to thank them enough, and that’s why I will always be a fan.

I had the great good fortune to interview Peggy Lee. Her memories of working with Walt Disney and his team were warm and upbeat.

I have so many great memories of the Allman Brothers early days. It was an incredible time.

Just as we accumulate memories of facts by integrating them into a network, we accumulate life experiences by integrating them into a web of other chronological memories. The denser the web, the denser the experience of time.

Some of my favorite memories happened in the ‘Boy Meets World’ classroom.

Obviously, I have a lot of memories here… but at the same time I’m going to put all my energies into moving forward and doing my best for the Thrashers.

My earliest memories as a kid was I would always try to make my mom and my stepdad laugh at dinner. Or make my friends laugh in class. And, I don’t know, it’s something I just really enjoy doing.

Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.

‘The Lucky One’ features a young concentration camp survivor named Peter Rashkin – who’s about the age my dad was when he started at CBS – working at the Oyster Bar, trying to acclimate to his new country and outrun the memories of the daily he left behind.

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.

One of my earliest memories is of seeing my mother in her beach chair, reading a book under an umbrella by the water’s edge while my sisters and I played beside her. Of all the life lessons she taught me, that is one of my favorites: to take time at a place I love, restore my spirit with books and the beach.

My father is Moroccan and I have fond childhood memories of holidays there.

I was loved as a kid; I was raised with more love and emotional support than most folks could wish for… my memories aged nought to ten… are all bound up together in a mesh of innocence and fun.

The memories that I have are mostly at our old ranch, out in Agoura. We used to go out there every Saturday. I can smell the oak trees. I can see it so clearly.

I write in order to find out what I truly know and how I really feel about certain things. Writing requires me to go much deeper into my thoughts and memories than conversation does. Writing provides the solitude necessary to reflect on being in this world.

Memories are like stones, time and distance erode them like acid.

I never ran away, but I was very unhappy as a teenager. I felt like a complete nonentity, and I very tangibly have memories of not wanting to be here – in my body.

Mum left school at 15, and after a few years of modelling and dating jazz musicians, was married by 21 to my father, Mike Taylor, a journalist on the ‘Daily Mirror.’ They had my brother and me pretty quickly and had split up by the time I was two. I don’t really have any memories of them as a couple.

One of my earliest memories is seeing a ‘Godzilla’ movie – not just my earliest movie memory, but any kind of memory.

The memories stayed with him for so long, and stayed vivid. And it didn’t matter to me that he’d already repeated that before. I could hear it forever.

As long as I have fashion memories, Schiaparelli has been there.

I want my kids to live their life with great family memories that they can pass on to their children.

I have many childhood memories of Eid.

I read less of everything now. With only fond memories of others’ work, it will be interesting to give my own journal writing a try now.

All my memories of being in Las Vegas with Bobby were great. Frank Sinatra brought us to the Sands Hotel in 1965. When we worked that lounge, it was a great lounge. I think it was bigger than the showroom. We were two 25-year-old dumb kids from Orange County in Las Vegas with The Rat Pack.

I happily went on holiday with my parents until I was 18, because we always had such a good time that I didn’t want to venture off and do my own thing. I have very fond memories of those holidays with my brother, mum, and dad.

I like books that aren’t just lovely but that have memories in themselves. Just like playing a song, picking up a book again that has memories can take you back to another place or another time.

There are cognitive processes and limbic reactions associated with basic emotions. And you can change brain chemistry, but you’re still not going to change memories and experiences in a human being.

I think history is collective memories. In writing, I’m using my own memory, and I’m using my collective memory.

It’s just comical how short-term people’s memories are.

I was very inspired by my mother. She was a vocal teacher and sang in a band, and my first memories of her were going out with her on the local circuit.

Our memories are convenient lies we create, cribbing images from others’ experiences. We discard the personal specifics which don’t conform to the ideal conventional beauty created by art directors and cinematographers.

I have very fond memories of swimming in Walden Pond when we lived in Boston. You’d swim past a log and see all these turtles sunning themselves. Slightly disturbing if you thought about how many more were swimming around your toes, but also rather wonderful.

When I was growing up, we went to Musikfest every year, and I have vivid memories of the corn on the cob. I’m going for the concert, but I’m really going for the corn.

Anything that triggers good memories can’t be all bad.

I have no memories I’m prepared to share with you.

I always remember my dad’s blue overalls and the blue overcoat he wore in winter, and I remember my mum’s big old Afro. Sometimes, though, in my memories, smudges have replaced their faces.

I think it’s too easy to recount your unhappy memories when you write about yourself. You bask in your own innocence. You revere your grief. You arrange your angers at their most becoming angles.

I grew up in New York City, and I’ve got wonderful memories of the Fourth of July fireworks.

Some of my memories will never return. They are lost – along with the crippling feeling of defeat and hopelessness. Not a tremendous price to pay.

I love having my ghosts, and I love having my memories.

I just like to bring energy. I always try to create a moment. Memories are important to me, and I like my look to go with the mood or the moment.

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.

Obviously the facts are never just coming at you but are incorporated by an imagination that is formed by your previous experience. Memories of the past are not memories of facts but memories of your imaginings of the facts.

All my best memories of my brother are in vehicles, speeding, predatory or celebratory. We were just made to drive. For the last 12 years of his life, he lived as caretaker of an orange grove. There, on 18 acres, my brother collected cars and trucks and motorcycles.

My personal memories of the brand go way back to the time when I was a teenager. L’Oreal make-up felt like a real luxury for me, and I remember dreaming of purchasing a L’Oreal lipstick.

I think when we lose somebody, when we interact with those things that they also loved – like, you listen to their favorite music, or you read their favorite books – it’s just a way to get in touch with them and your memories of them.

One of my clearest, happiest memories is of myself at fourteen, sitting up in bed, being handed a large glass of warm buttermilk by my mother because I had a sore throat, and she saying how envious she was that I was reading ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ for the first time.

For years, I have been harboring memories of my first major league game at a place named Ebbets Field in Brooklyn.

I grew up playing football since the day I could walk; some of my greatest memories of childhood are playing touch football in all kinds of weather with my best friends. That’s a part of the American experience that no corporation can destroy.

When I was a child, women spoke to me of how all they had was their memories, how their husbands went to war and never came back, so many tragedies. That chorus of voices filled my consciousness. It was part of life itself.

My memories of London Fashion Week are of starting out and not getting many tickets for fashion shows, but wanting to see them so much that I’d sneak in with my friends, people like Pat McGrath and Craig McDean.