memories [Theme] Page 117

... as you know, the memory brings back everything except smells, but nothing so fully resurrects the past as the odor once associated with it.

When you're gone, just memories... And a few lines on the account.

I often think about the past. Especially now... this notice. In order to live, man needs the memories as fuel. Anyway, what memories. Expensive or worthless, important or ridiculous - they're all just fuel. The newspaper advertisement or philosophical treatises, dirty porn or ten banknotes to fire, in which they are thrown, it's all just paper. It would not be the fire blaze in different ways, saliva and then: "Oh, Kant's planted!" or "yeah, the evening news!" or "Wow, what Tits!" Fire everything... damn That's the same with our memories. Unnecessary, random, junk, disposable - everything will fit, but if the fire is not extinguished...

Sometimes I am glad that our memory is not so good at keeping memories as books. Without them we would have nothing to remember. Forgot the Trojan war, Columbus, Marco Polo, Shakespeare, all the crazy kings and gods.

If you take a book, a strange thing happens: the book begins collecting your memories. One has only to open it later, and you're immediately transported there, where he read these pages. I skimmed the first words - and come to life in front of you are familiar with the paintings, you feel the smells, the taste of ice cream, which was eating while reading... Trust me, books are magical, because nothing holds memories like their page.

Books are like Velcro. Nothing preserves memories better than our book pages.

When it's all over, the pain of parting is proportional to the experienced beauty of love. To withstand this pain is difficult, because the man immediately begins torturing memories.

But I forgot about the wrongs of the past,
I will remember only the good.

God had been cruel, giving people's memories. He must have known that I will remember the spring of my life and cry.

Do everything as if nothing happened, but inside, they doubt. That's what memories.

Nothing is even worse when we, as elders, begin to shake up our youth.
(Nothing is more terrible how old age to experience in my youth.)

We once were in the cafe, and now I have to pass by him. I try not to do it. We sat there no more than forty minutes, drink it tea, I'm two coffees. Talked about nothing, she laughed, and I looked at her and thought about how I want to now take her by the hand and never let go. Sat for forty minutes, and this cafe has become my "our" café. I can't go in there anymore, and the view of the cafe hurt me. And boulevards... all avenues are hurt. And the whole town hurts me constantly. Because she's here. And all those places where we met, it was just unbearable... epicenter of excitement, anxiety...

Easier to love memories than a living person.

Man cannot move forward if the soul it eats away the pain of memories.