Sara Zarr Quotes

Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it.

The way I see it, love is an amusement park, and food its souvenir.

My father's body lies in a stone tomb high on a hill. People walk by, pause, think their own thoughts about him and move on, back to their own lives. I can never move on. He is everywhere.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

I very much loved my late wife, Diana Joy Colbert, and I'd rather hold onto what I can.

Just promise me you'll think of me everytime you look up in the sky and see a star

There’s something beautiful and very circular about passing by something that was important to the person you loved, or touching something that once meant something to him — that brings me some peace.

Pain itself can be pleasurable accidentally in so far as it is accompanied by wonder, as in stage-plays; or in so far as it recalls a beloved object to one's memory, and makes one feel one's love for the thing, whose absence gives us pain. Consequently, since love is pleasant, both pain and whatever else results from love, in so far as they remind us of our love, are pleasant.

Let us drink together, fellows, as we did in days of yore. And still enjoy the golden hours that Fortune has in store; The absent friends remembered be, in all that’s sung or said, And Love immortal consecrate the memory of the dead.

To us who remain behind is left this day of memories. Every year--in the full tide of spring, at the height of the symphony of flowers and love and life--there comes a pause, and through the silence we hear the lonely pipe of death.

The act of writing is for me often nothing more than the secret or conscious desire to carve words on a tombstone: to the memory of a town forever vanished, to the memory of a childhood in exile, to the memory of all those I loved and who, before I could tell them I loved them, went away.

You know how hind-sight is 20/20? Love is when you look back and wouldn't change anything.

The entire world is a collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her.

Love is the symbol of eternity.

When every memory has been made and the pages start to fade. And every prayer you ever prayed is heaven bound. When you think the ride is over, you're back at the beginning. Love is never-ending.

Second-hand gloves will become lovely again, their memories are what give them the need for other hands. And the desolation of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled; the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear.

Every day I'll wear your memory like a favorite shirt upon my back

I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.

For better or for worse, music is the language of memory. It is also the language of love.

After departure, only invisible things are left, perhaps the life of the world is held together by invisible chains of memory and loss and love. So many things, so many people, depart! And we can only repossess them in our minds.

Lost love is still love. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.

Long since, the desert wind wiped away our footprints in the sand. But at every second of my existence, I remember what happened, and you still walk in my dreams and in my reality. Thank you for having crossed my path.

I know why we try to keep the dead alive: we try to keep them alive in order to keep them with us.

Memories are who we are. In the end, that's all the luggage you take with you. Love and Memories are what last.