I find myself focusing up at the sky — the only roof left — because too many memories are drowning me.

I could tell you it's the heart, but what is really killing him is loneliness. Memories are worse than bullets.

And the moral of the story is that you don’t remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.

Use our memories as an asset not as a liability. Don't let it be our inner curse but share them as a rare gift.

The feelings resembled memories; but memories of what? Apparently one can remember things that have never happened.

...we went to watch the waves that bitter day and the wind took your red cap and mittens - blew them into the sea...

...I recall that day on the beach - the sand so brilliant, the clouds so massive, and the wind punishing your hair...

...everyone wants to be excited by something magical and wondrous - to be reminded of how they once saw the world ...

We all leave behind bits of loose thread. Old operations, old enemies. They pull at you, like memories of old lovers.

And the pomegranates,/like memories, are bittersweet/as we huddle together,/remembering just how good/life used to be

It was one of those rare times when remembering the dead was more inmportant than tending to the needs of the living.

If my generation is remembered for anything, it will be as the last one that remembers the world before the Internet.

I answer the heroic question, 'Death, where is thy sting?' with 'It is in my heart and mind and memories.

There were so many of these moments that could never be captured accurately, even in the camcorder, only in the heart.

And here in this room, I re-experience the memories again and again it is how wisdom comes and how we shape our future.