Sarah Dessen Quotes

Down in the deep, up in the sky , I see them always, far or nigh, And I shall see them till I die The old familiar faces.

If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more, we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song.

But where are the snows of yester year?

A lot of things you see as a child remain with you... you spend a lot of your life trying to recapture the experience.

I'm a romantic; a sentimental person thinks things will last, a romantic person hopes against hope that they won't.

We'll Meet Again' is the one that means more to me than anything.

What if everyone goes on the endless road Sooner or later Over the clouds to the sky Be sure to wait for me. And then, we will talk away About our countless memories.

They say that Hope is happiness But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose first -- they set the last. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adored and lost Hath melted into memory. Alas! It is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are.

The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns.

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

Your old home town's so far away, but inside your head there's a record that's playing, a song called 'Hold On

Each that we lose takes a part of us; A crescent still abides, Which like the moon, some turbid night, Is summoned by the tides.

Nothing is ever lost, Sarah. Nothing that can't be found.

I half closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, and maybe even call.

Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all. And faith means believing the incredible, or it is no virtue at all.

The Things that never can come back, are several- Childhood-some forms of Hope-the Dead- Though Joys-like Men-may sometimes make a Journey- And still abide-.

Haunted Gulp down your wine, old friends of mine, Roar through the darkness, stamp and sing And lay ghost hands on everything, But leave the noonday's warm sunshine To living lads for mirth and wine. I met you suddenly down the street, Strangers assume your phantom faces, You grin at me from daylight places, Dead, long dead, I'm ashamed to greet Dead men down the morning street.

Remembrance of things past.

You can go home again...so long as you understand that home is a place where you have never been.

The purpose of the poetry is not to dazzle us with an astonishing thought, but to make one moment of existence unforgettable and worthy of unbearable nostalgia.

Back on its golden hinges The gate of Memory swings, And my heart goes into the garden And walks with the olden things.

Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?

When time passes, it's the people who knew you whom you want to see; they're the ones you can talk to. When enough time passes, what's it matter what they did to you?

In the days that follow, he begins to remember things about Moushumi, images that come to him without warning while he is sitting at his desk at work, or during a meeting, or drifting off to sleep, or standing in the mornings under the shower. They are scenes he has carried within him, buried but intact, scenes he has never thought about or had reason to conjure up until now.