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Quotes About Childhood Memory

Quotes tagged as "childhood-memory" (showing 1-12 of 12)
J.M. Barrie
“Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. ”
J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Lucy Christopher
“I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.”
Lucy Christopher, Stolen: A Letter to My Captor

Audrey Niffenegger
“one of the best and the most painful things about time traveling has been the opportunity to see my mother alive.”
Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

Audrey Niffenegger
“I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.”
Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

Samantha Young
"Mom, Arnie Welsh keeps calling me a geek. He says it like it's a bad thing. Is being a geek a bad thing?"

"Of course not, Soda Pop. And don't listen to labels. They don't matter."

"What are labels?"

"It's an imaginery sticker people slap on you with the word they think you are written on it. It doesn't matter who they think you are. It matters who you think you are."

"I think I might be a geek."

She laughed. "Then you be a geek. Just be whatever makes you happy, Soda Pop, and I'll be happy too.

Samantha Young, Before Jamaica Lane

Audrey Niffenegger
“I think about my mother singing after lunch on a Summer afternoon, twirling in blue dress across the floor of her dressing room”
Audrey Niffenegger, The Time Traveler's Wife

Chelsea Handler
“Seeing your mother naked is not something you easily recover from. Seeing your mother naked and jumping from one side of a king-sized bed to the other with a nurse's hat on while your father, who is also naked, is chasing her with a bandanna around his neck, is reason to put yourself up for adoption.”
Chelsea Handler, My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands

“The fifties are a peaceful time, a quiet sleeping time between two noisy bursts of years, a blue and white time filled with sweet yellow days, music and bright smelling memories.”
David Gerrold, The Man Who Folded Himself

Eve Berlin
“She saw it in her mind's eye like a movie playing, the haunting memories from her childhood she couldn't seem to shake blending together into one raw, aching image. Her mother lying in a darkened room for days, her face swollen with tears. The inevitable ashtray overrun with ashes, the acrid scent of pot smoke in the air. The bed or couch or futon may have been different from year to year as Evie moved them around from apartment to commune to funky cottage, but her mother was always the same. Falling hard for some man, immersing herself in romantic fantasies that were crushed when the guy left. And the guy always left. Her mother's inability to get a grasp on reality had too often left Mischa to care for her younger sister, to care for her mother, from too young an age. She remembered shaking Evie awake, trying to get her to eat. To get up and take a shower, take her and Raine to school. No kid should have to do that. No kid should have to witness the way Evie had allowed herself to be ravaged by love. No woman should allow that to happen.”
Eve Berlin, Temptation's Edge

Kurt Vonnegut
“FËDOR Mikhailovich Dostoevski, the
Russian novelist, said one time that, "One sacred memory from childhood is perhaps the best education." I can think of another quickie education for a child, which, in its way, is almost as salutary: Meeting a human being who is tremendously respected by the adult world, and realizing that that person is actually a malicious lunatic.”
Kurt Vonnegut, Slapstick or Lonesome No More!

“Dad used to read aloud to us from Dickens and Kipling. My tastes were omnivorous. I read anything I could lay my hands on, but the memory that stays with me is that of my father reading the Jungle Books to us when we were young. Beautiful stories!”
A.B. Guthrie Jr.

Gillian Flynn
“She has that voraciousness about children. She swoops in on them. Even I, in public was a beloved child. She'd parade me into town, smiling and teasing me, tickling me as she spoke with people on the sidewalks. When we got home, she'd trail off to her room like an unfinished sentence, and I would sit outside with my face pressed against her door, and replay the day in my head, searching for clues to what I had done to displease her.

I have one memory that catches in me like a nasty clump of blood. Marian was dead about two years, and my mother had a cluster of friends come over for afternoon drinks. For hours, the child was cooed over, smothered with red lipstick kisses, tidied up with tissues, then lipstick smacked again. I was suppose to be reading in my room, but I sat at the top of the stairs watching.

My mother finally was handed the baby, and she cuddled it ferociously. Oh, how, wonderful it is to hold a baby again! Adora jiggled it on her knee, walked it around the rooms, whispered to it, and I looked down from above like a spiteful little god, the back of my hand placed against my face, imagining how it felt to be cheek to cheek with my mother.”
Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

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