I'm leaving my sorrows and all my memories behind to see what I find, somewhere in the shade near the sound of a sweet singing river, somewhere in the sun where the mountains make love to the sky.— John Denver
Contentment Sweet Memory quotations
The bitterness of poor quality is remembered long after the sweetness of low price has faded from memory.
Every time I hear anyone speak of the Sacred Heart of Jesus or of the Blessed Sacrament I feel an indescribable joy. It is as if a wave of precious memories, sweet affections and joyful hopes swept over my poor person, making me tremble with happiness and filling my soul with tenderness.
Our most treasured family heirloom are our sweet family memories.
The past is never dead, it is not even past.
Cakes are special. Every birthday, every celebration ends with something sweet, a cake, and people remember. It's all about the memories.
Love is not simply the sum of sweet greetings and wrenching partings and kisses and embraces, but is made up more of the memory of what has happened and the imagining of what is to come.
For each thorn, there's a rosebud... For each twilight - a dawn... For each trial - the strength to carry on, For each storm cloud - a rainbow... For each shadow - the sun... For each parting - sweet memories when sorrow is done.
And though age and infirmity overtake me, and I come not within sight of the castle of my dreams, teach me still to be thankful for life, and for time's olden memories that are good and sweet; and may the evening's twilight find me gentle still.
Mysterious power, whence hope ethereal springs! Sweet heavenly relic of eternal things! Inspiring oft deep thoughts of things divine: The past, the present, and the future time. Thy reminiscences transport the soul To memory?s Paradise?its future goal.
Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember.
The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.
Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once.
A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth.
Memory is sweet. Even when it’s painful, memory is sweet.
I take every opportunity to articulate to others the ways that they have blessed and influenced me. I hold sweet memories of making the opportunity to thank teachers who have influenced me. I encourage everyone to seize opportunities to tell people who have made a gift of knowledge or influence.
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in / There's an old man sitting next to me making love to his tonic and gin / He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?/ I'm not really sure how it goes / But it's sad and it's sweet, and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.'
If we lose all our sweet memories, it means we are dead even if we are alive!
Smell brings to mind... a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.
I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories.
Heart-aches are forgotten, tears lose their bitterness, and like a leaf of lavendar in a store of linen, so does Memory make life sweet.
Sweet is the memory of past troubles.
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;
The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.
Sweet childish days, that were as long, As twenty days are now.
O memory, thou bitter sweet,--both a joy and a scourge!
How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at interval upon the ear In cadence sweet; now dying all away, Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! With easy force it opens all the cells Where Memory slept.
His smile brought back the best times, sweet memories of nights together.
.. stirring up those old feelings that got me thinkin' bout forever.
All the wild sweetness of the flower Tangled against the wall.
It was that magic, silent hour.... The branches grew so tall They twined themselves into a bower. The sun shown ... and the fall Of yellow blossom on the grass! You feel that golden rain? Both of you could not hold, alas, (both of you tried, in vain) A memory, stranger. So I pass.... It will not come again.
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.
I used to love hospitals. That's another weird thing about me. I remember when my grandmother -- so sweet, God rest her soul -- was in the hospital, I always loved visiting her there. Very morbid memory! Most people hate hospitals. And I'm not a big fan of them now, but there was something about it for me back then.
I am convinced that the greatest legacy we can leave our children are happy memories: those precious moments so much like pebbles on the beach that are plucked from the white sand and placed in tiny boxes that lay undisturbed on tall shelves until one day they spill out and time repeats itself, with joy and sweet sadness, in the child now an adult.
Beyond the pain, life continues to be sweet.
The basics are still there. Beauty, food and friendship, reservoirs of love and understanding. Later, possibly not yet, you are going to need others who will encourage you to make new beginnings. Welcome them. They will help you move on, to cherish happy memories and confront the painful ones with more than bitterness and anger.
Your bitter memories still have time to turn into sweet ones.
He who sleeps here, when dying, mistaking the approach of death for the return of health, whispered with his latest breath, I am better now. Let us believe, in spite of doubts and dogmas, of fears and tears, that these dear words are true of all the countless dead.The record of a generous life runs like a vine around the memory of our dead, and every sweet, unselfish act is now a perfumed flower.
Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start when memory plays an old tune on the heart!