Andy Mineo Quotes

Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.

There are a hundred places where I fear To go, --so with his memory they brim! And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, 'There is no memory of him here!' And so stand stricken, so remembering him!

With you a part of me hath passed away; For in the peopled forest of my mind A tree made leafless by this wintry wind Shall never don again its green array. Chapel and fireside, country road and bay, Have something of their friendliness resigned; Another, if I would, I could not find, And I am grown much older in a day. But yet I treasure in my memory Your gift of charity, and young hearts ease, And the dear honour of your amity; For these once mine, my life is rich with these. And I scarce know which part may greater be,-- What I keep of you, or you rob from me.

Jennifer had never liked the pain of remembering what had happened, but for Theo it was the pain that kept Laura alive in his memory. He was afraid that if it ever began to heal she would disappear.

Forgetting lets you live without the pain for a moment but remembering hits hard.

And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again.

I needed, I decided, to really know her, because I needed more to remember. Before I could begin the shameful process of forgetting the how and the why of her living and dying, I needed to learn it: How. Why. When. Where. What.

Were it not better to forget than to remember and regret?

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.

The things hardest to bear are sweetest to remember.

Remembering. Forgetting. I'm not sure which is worse.

Memory is the only friend of grief.

The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eye of memory.

memories fall apart too.

How do you regret one of the best nights of your entire life? You don't. You remember every word, every look. Even when it hurts, you still remember.

Night is the time to weep,To wet with unseen tearsThose graves of memory where sleepThe joys of other years.

Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it.

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. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

Memory is a wonderful thing if you don't have to deal with the past.

Remembering is only a new form of suffering.

Nobody takes a picture of something they want to forget.

As the warm air blew in the car, simple snapshots of the life they'd lived together surfaced in his mind; but as always, those images led inexorably to their final day together.

Look not mournfully into the past. It comes not back again.