The Weeknd Quotes

Everything about me remembers everything about you

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.

Whenever it rains you will think of her.

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

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

She wished she could visit Mariam's grave, to sit with her awhile, leave a flower or two. But she sees now that it doesn't matter. Mariam is never very far.... Mariam is in her own heart, where she shines with the bursting radiance of a thousand suns.

My memory loves you… it asks about you all the time.

... if one can remember without loving, then couldn't one love without remembering?

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

The things we truly love stay with us always, locked in our hearts as long as life remains.

If you were falling in love and you could go back in time and relive a day and see the banal things you did that you'd forgotten about, you'd weep, looking at that day.

When you love something, it never goes away.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.

In the end, all you want is someone to long for you when it comes time to put you in the ground.

When someone is in your heart, they're never truly gone. They can come back to you, even at unlikely times.

There's an old poem by Neruda that I've always been captivated by, and one of the lines in it has stuck with me ever since the first time I read it. It says "love is so short, forgetting is so long." It's a line I've related to in my saddest moments, when I needed to know someone else had felt that exact same way. And when we're trying to move on, the moments we always go back to aren't the mundane ones. They are the moments you saw sparks that weren't really there, felt stars aligning without having any proof, saw your future before it happened, and then saw it slip away without any warning.

And so there would always be more to remember that could no longer be seen...our history is always returning to a little patch of weeds and saplings with an old chimney sticking up by itself...and here I look ahead to the resting of my case: I love the house that belonged to the chimney, holding it bright in memory, and love the saplings and the weeds.

You can't just plan a moment when things get back on track, just as you can't plan the moment you lose your way in the first place. But standing there alone on the landing, I thought of Grandma Halley and how she'd held me close against her lap as we watched the sky together. I'd always thought I couldn't remember, but suddenly in that moment, I closed my eyes and saw the comet, finally, brilliant and impossible, stretching above me across the sky.

I envy the music lovers hear. I see them walking hand in hand, standing close to each other in a queue at a theater or subway station, heads touching while they sit on a park bench, and I ache to hear the song that plays between them: The stirring chords of romance's first bloom, the stately airs that whisper between a couple long in love. You can see it in the way they look at each other... you can almost hear it. Almost, but not quite, because the music belongs to them and all you can have of it is a vague echo that rises up from the bittersweet murmur and shuffle of your own memories.

Dear Sweetheart, do you ever think of me? Just the other day I was thinking of you. I'm pretty sure it was you.

I don't know what this feather means, the story of it, but I know it means he was thinking of me. For all these years. He remembered me.

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

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.

If we can remember the feeling of love we once had, we can die without ever going away.

She taught me to play the piano, and what it meant to miss somebody.