Ellen Hopkins Quotes

I will never forget my beautiful days with you in Shanklin, they are certainly the most pleasant ones of my life. Look, I have tears in my eyes just to think about it. I am furious to be here, it is the end of happiness for a whole year.

I wondered how long it could last. Maybe someday, years from now.If the pain would decrease to the point where I could bear it.I would be able to look back on those few short months that would always be the best of my life.

What happiness is there in just the memory of happiness?

Every time I open the drawer, it's a trip down Memory Lane, which, if you don't turn off at the right exit, merges straight into the Masochistic Nostalgia Highway.

I think that my regrets mostly have to do with my relationship with my ex-girlfriend. Every once in a while, you get those flashback memories of conversations you had with your exes, and you just, like, wince when you're walking down the street. Something occurs to you, 'Oh, no, I said that.'

Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.

Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it's pain. Pain concerning the past.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

The punctuation of anniversaries is terrible, like the closing of doors, one after another between you and what you want to hold on to.

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

You can't fast-forward heartbreak, and you can't rewind love - and that's just one big bummer.

Aberystwyth (n.) A nostalgic yearning which is in itself more pleasant than the thing being yearned for.

You have your wonderful memories," people said later, as if memories were solace. Memories are not. Memories are by definition of times past, things gone. Memories are the Westlake uniforms in the closet, the faded and cracked photographs, the invitations to the weddings of the people who are no longer married, the mass cards from the funerals of the people whose faces you no longer remember. Memories are what you no longer want to remember.

Sign of old age: distress at all leave-takings, all separations. And the sadness of memories, because I'm aware they're condemned to death.

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.

I stayed there loving you, though the love made me, not sad but I guess melancholy, for a reason I couldn’t point to.

Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.

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.

I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all

memories should be sharp when one has nothing else to live for

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

The food that memory gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it.

There are no happy endings. Endings are the saddest part, So just give me a happy middle And a very happy start.

Memory is a cruel mistress with whom we all must learn to dance.