Childhood Memory Quotes

“Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. ”
― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

“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

“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

“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

“"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

“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

“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

“It had been so long since she had remembered all this, so long since she'd even thought of it, for there had been a great forgetting when she left home--a purposeful forgetting, because to forget her childhood meant she had survived it.”
― Rachel Yoder, Nightbitch

“A momentary feeling overcame her. It wasn't sadness exactly. But it wasn't just nostalgia, either. There was a golden drop of happiness in the feeling, whatever it was, as warming and delightful as sunlight. A memory of old dreams that had worn thin like the comfiest pillowcase one couldn't bear to throw out.
Wonderland.
The details had dimmed long ago but the feelings remained: adventure, magic, fascinating creatures.”
― Liz Braswell, Unbirthday

“For a split second, Elsa recalled a new memory of her younger self. She was building a snowman with another girl. They pulled the snowman around the room laughing. It was clear they loved each other. Her hands started to tingle in an unfamiliar way- they were warm- then the sensation was gone and she was left with a sharp headache.
What was that? she wondered. The girl had to be in her imagination. She had never used magic before that week. Had she?
Elsa stood up, her legs shaking. She held on to her bed frame to keep from falling. Heart pounding, fingers aching, she closed her eyes again and tried to remember the love she had just felt coursing through her veins. The emotion was stronger than fear. This feeling had come from building something out of love- a snowman for the two girls to enjoy.”
― Jen Calonita, Conceal, Don't Feel

“This looks wonderful, girls," Mama said. "Your father is going to be so surprised. You know how much he loves your krumkaker."
"Crumbs cake-r." Anna tried hard to say the word, but she never could. "Crumb cake?"
Mama and Elsa laughed.
"Krumkaker," Mama said, the word rolling off her tongue smoothly. "I've been using this recipe since I was your age. I used to bake these with my best friend."
"That's where you learned to bake with love," Anna said.
"Yes, I did," Mama agreed, fixing Anna's right pigtail.”
― Jen Calonita, Conceal, Don't Feel

“As was Isshiki family custom, I moved in with the closest host family to train. It was true that the girl I met there was not necessarily talented as I was...
... but she took great pride in learning her skills, one by one...
... working on them with joyous enthusiasm. Watching her from the sidelines...
... she looked beautiful to me.
It was only by watching over her shoulder...
... that it occurred to me that cooking could be fun.
... that there could be joy in learning skills that could bring happiness to others. The girl who taught me that...
... was you, Nene Kinokuni.
I have the utmost respect for you.
You looked so beautiful back then, learning how you did and having fun doing it.
If I had one wish, it'd be for you to remember how that felt.”
― Yuto Tsukuda, 食戟のソーマ 29 [Shokugeki no Souma 29]

“One Christmas Eve in my childhood, my dad asked if I wanted to leave alcohol out for Santa. I agreed but said to only leave a little as I was afraid I'd wake up on Christmas morning and see Santa drunkenly circling over our house in his sleigh.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Tonight, you'll show them you're as lovely as your name."
You're as lovely as your name, Cinderella echoed in her thoughts.
It was almost like something her father had said once, when Drizella and Anastasia first made fun of her name.
Your name is lovely, he'd chided her, just like you. Do you want me to call you Ella?
No, Papa. I like Cinderella.
Then ignore them. You're stronger than that, my darling.”
― Elizabeth Lim, So This is Love

“I recalled the time he tricked me into eating a live snail, explaining that snails were a delicacy in France, and if I were to develop a true palate, I had to eat one. It wasn't until later that I learned they were, indeed, delicious, but one didn't just pick up a snail from the garden and put a dash of salt on it. Snails we're eaten after a long curing process and served after they were baked in loads of butter, garlic, and parsley- les escargots de Bourgogne.”
― Samantha Verant, The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux

“Before we do anything, here's the first lesson in dessert making: don't stint on any of the good stuff. Fill it up with butter, and cream, and sugar, and fruit. All the things we want loads of but really shouldn't have. It should feel decadent."
That's her grandfather talking, of course: "Pudding is an indulgence; it should feel like it," he used to say. She could recall one day, in the kitchen of their house in London, when she was maybe nine or ten, helping her mother frost a birthday cake for one of her sisters (Meg, surely; Julia had given up cake, by that point). Elliott sat on a stool at the kitchen island, watching them, guiding Susan's technique: "Take off just enough of the frosting to give a smooth appearance, but don't scrape it all off. The whole point of cake is the frosting, isn't it? You don't want a bare cake."
"Julia would," Susan commented with a wry smile.
"Julia doesn't appreciate things like this" was Elliott's response.
"Now, now," Susan's mother gently remonstrated with a warning look at her father-in-law.
"Well, I worry about Julia," he said. "If you can't indulge in a little cake now and again, what sort of joy do you have in your life? Can you indulge in anything? And yes, cake is an indulgence. You don't need it, but you want it. It should feel celebratory and just a little delightfully naughty when you have it. It's the same with any dessert.”
― Brianne Moore, All Stirred Up

“With school over for the year, and days that stretched as long as our country lane-ways, we enjoyed a pure and joyful freedom, an elusive state of complete happiness, one that some would fail to recapture, ever again, in our all-too-brief time on this Earth.”
― Arlene Stafford-Wilson, Lanark County Comfort

“After you told me about the shirt cuff, I told you about the time I spilled ink on a map in my father's study."
He shook his head, baffled.
"It was a rare two-hundred-year-old map of the British Isles," Merritt explained. "I'd gone into my father's study to play with a set of inkwell bottles, which I'd been told not to do. But they were such tempting little etched glass bottles, and one of them was filled with the most resplendent shade of emerald green you've ever seen. I dipped a pen in it, and accidentally dribbled some onto the map, which had been spread out on his desk. It made a horrid splotch right in the middle of the Oceanus Germanicus. I was standing there, weeping with shame, when Papa walked in and saw what had happened."
"What did he do?" Keir asked, now looking interested.
"He was quiet at first. Waging a desperate battle with his temper, I'm sure. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he said in a thoughtful tone, 'Merritt, I suspect if you drew some legs on that blotch, it would make an excellent sea monster.' So I added little tentacles and fangs, and I drew a three-masted ship nearby." She paused at the flash of Keir's grin, the one that never failed to make her a bit light-headed. "He had it framed and hung it on the wall over his desk. To this day, he claims it's his favorite work of art."
Amusement tugged at one corner of his mouth. "A good father," he commented.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Disguise

“He traced a groove in the melamine counter. "I had some of the best times sitting around your table, throwing out math problems for you to solve or talking hockey with Sanjay and your dad." He pointed to the dent. "Do you remember this?"
Daisy put the pastries in the microwave and took down two mugs from the cupboard. "What is it?"
"It's where I dropped a bowl of pakoras when you walked into the kitchen wearing a tight green dress that Layla had bought for you because she was dragging you to a school dance. You were sixteen, and you looked amazing. Your dad and Sanjay went crazy. Sanjay insisted you wear a winter jacket. Layla had to run interference. That was the day I realized you weren't a little girl anymore and I couldn't treat you like you were.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“As we pass the rack of votive prayer candles on the way to our pew, an unlit candle suddenly bursts aflame. I gasp, and Mum and Dad exchange a glance. But by the time we're in our seats, the incident is nearly forgotten. Surely it must have been my imagination.”
― Alexandra Monir, Suspicion

“a combination of all childhood memory / fields of / rice / sugarcane / wheat / barley / cows & buffaloes tilling soil / the red light / of dawn / and tomato plants...”
― Sneha Subramanian Kanta

“A Gathering of Frogs by Stewart Stafford

Through the fence with friends,
And into the back field frontier,
Past the growing pile of lumber,
Shivers for the Halloween bonfire.

Down the slope to a boundary hedge,
Rusty bathtub lying like a crime scene,
And into the deepening marsh beyond,
For the ritual kidnapping of frogspawn.

Frogs leap through reeds and tall grass,
The bulbous jelly of many eyes located,
Scooped surgically into a container,
Up to our fort to study our live plunder.

Tongues of smoke from our twig fire,
On the derelict path between estates,
Crisps consumed in the darkening chill,
Then, satiated, a walk home for dinner.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“His eyes light up. “Wait, this is a sakura mochi. How did you remember—"
I glance down and curse internally at the faintly pink, round dessert, pale as a cherry blossom petal. How did I remember his favorite?
His mom used to take us, Cam, and Remy down to San Jose to go around Japantown, picking up bentos from a homey restaurant to eat at the park, and then we’d stop at Shuei-Do Manju Shop. Every time, without fail, Jack would choose sakura mochi. The times that there was only one left in stock, the rest of us purposefully ordered other sweets, just so Jack could get his favorite. And his eyes would shine with delight as he munched on the pink rice cake, the way he’s smiling now.”
― Julie Abe, The Charmed List

“I scoop up a generous mouthful, thankful for something cool to take away the sudden heat flushing up me neck. I can’t believe I agreed to this…. My drawings aren’t good enough.
Then the flavor of the ice cream bursts through my mouth. And it isn’t vanilla or chocolate or any ordinary flavor like that.
Honeysuckle.
Our favorite activity during third-grade recess was to hide behind the classroom, lying under the window so Ms. King wouldn’t see us and ask what we were doing. Jack and I would lie out among the clover and honeysuckle, holding hands and just staring up at the impossibly huge sky.
Some days, I’d bring my sketch pad so we could draw the clouds, and we made those little pictures into stories. A cloud-bunny would go on adventures with the cloud-dragon, and they’d find gleaming treasures and hidden magical lands, always together. When we got bored, we’d suck on the stems of the honeysuckle for a drop of sweetness.
Those honeysuckle days are some of the sweetest moments I ever had growing up.”
― Julie Abe, The Charmed List

“Jack has been quiet because he’s been so scared of asking for help. Because he feels alone in trying to deal with his mother’s illness and taking care of himself and his brother. But I’m here for him. I’ll always be here for him.”
― Julie Abe, The Charmed List

“I breathe in the fresh summer air as I pass a table covered with all sorts of cakes---Victorian sponge, Madeira, Battenberg, lemon drizzle. Again my mind drifts to my childhood, this time to the Michigan State Fair, which my family would visit at the end of every summer. It had all sorts of contests---pie eating, hog calling, watermelon seed spitting (Stevie's favorite)---but the cake competition was my favorite challenge of all. Every year I'd eye the confections longingly: the fluffy coconut cakes, the fudge chocolate towers filled with gooey caramel or silky buttercream, the cinnamon-laced Bundts topped with buttery streusel. The competition was divided into adult and youth categories, and when I turned twelve, I decided to enter a recipe for chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter buttercream and peanut brittle.
My mom was a little befuddled by my participation (her idea of baking involved Duncan Hines and canned, shelf-stable frosting, preferably in a blinding shade of neon), but she rode along with my dad, Stevie, and me as we carted two-dozen cupcakes to the fairgrounds in Novi. The competition was steep---pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting, German chocolate cupcakes, zucchini cupcakes with lemon buttercream---but my entry outshone them all, and I ended up taking home the blue ribbon, along with a gift certificate to King Arthur Flour.”
― Dana Bate, Too Many Cooks

“They were halfway across the road when a birdcall tugged her back, pulling at some strange, secret part of her. A crow, she thought, from its husky caw---she had already learned to recognize most of the birds that sang in her parents' garden, and crows were her favorite. There was something intelligent---almost human---about their sly voices and dark, luminous eyes.
Kate turned, scanning the trees that lined the road behind them. And there it was: a velvet flash of black, shocking against the lurid green and blue of the June day. A crow, just as she'd thought.”
― Emilia Hart, Weyward

“Alaine remembered that she had paused and carefully studied the pattern in the apple. "It's like a little flower."
"That's it exactly. A flower--- five petals, just like an apple blossom. Inside every apple is the promise of a whole tree, blooming someday." She gave one half of the apple to Delphine and the other to Alaine. "There's a lot of work between that flower inside the apple and the one in an orchard in springtime. I tend to think it's worth it.”
― Rowenna Miller, The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill

“She thought about how her biggest wish as a child was to grow up. But growing up hurt like hell in a world that actively preyed on innocence and demanded conformity. Now that she was a jaded adult, she would give anything to be a wild kid again.”
― Phoenix Ning, Paragon Seven

“I don't care anymore. I'm sick of hiding in the shadows."
I am half sick of shadows, said the Lady of Shalott. The line flitted across Biddy's mind in Rowan's softest lilt, along with a flicker of firelight in the castle library, the sound of rain lashing outside, a cold draft through the half-open window that seemed to bring with it the promise of adventure. She had been perhaps six or seven, hearing the poem read to her for the first time. It had thrilled and spellbound her: the woman in the tower, longing for life and experience, the bold knight outside, the ebb and flow of the rhyme as relentless and inevitable as a river.”
― H.G. Parry, The Magician’s Daughter