Zelda Fitzgerald Quotes

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

With the death of my father, it wasn't just the objects of everyday life that had changed; even the most ordinary street scenes had become irreplaceable mementos of a lost world whose every detail figured in the meaning of the whole.

Every man who has lived for fifty years has buried a whole world or even two; he has grown used to its disappearance and accustomed to the new scenery of another act: but suddenly the names and faces of a time long dead appear more and more often on his way, calling up series of shades and pictures kept somewhere, "just in case," in the endless catacombs of the memory, making him smile or sigh, and sometimes almost weep.

Every thought should recall the ruin of a smile.

The times that were most fun seemed always to be followed by sadness now, because it was when life started to feel like it did when she was with us that we realized how utterly gone she was.

Nothing is a waste that makes a memory.

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

Anyone who doesn't miss the past never had a mother.

Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

My favorite songs to sing have always been songs about regret. I don't know why that is, but to me, that's country music.

How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.

I like to spend time in the past, with the things that have been important to me.

There is no greater sorrow Than to be mindful of the happy time In misery

I miss the camera each moment and each day.

Some of my memories will never return. They are lost - along with the crippling feeling of defeat and hopelessness. Not a tremendous price to pay.

If I had any advice to give to anybody, it would be record your parents talking so that, when you're longing to hear that voice, you can play the tape. But for me, it's a little often. You don't always need to be reminded that he isn't here anymore.

There are moments when the grief comes bubbling up. The first time I saw Chris's chair empty, that was really hard. And it was hard when I started folding up some of his sweaters that I so imagine him wearing.

It's stupid, I know, but I care. All the things that meant so much when we were young. Under the blankets late at night, listening to long-distance radio. All those things lost now or broken. Can you remember? Can you remember that feeling? Perhaps I ought to go to a doctor.

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.

I cling to my memories of glorious desperation.

But what of life whose bitter hungry sea Flows at our heels, and gloom of sunless night Covers the days which never more return? Ambition, love and all the thoughts that burn We lose too soon, and only find delight In withered husks of some dead memory.

From daydreams on the road there was no waking. He plodded on. He could remember everything of her save her scent. Seated in a theatre with her beside him leaning forward listening to the music. Gold scrollwork and sconces and the tall columnar folds of the drapes at either side of the stage. She held his hand in her lap and he could feel the tops of her stockings through the thin stuff of her summer dress. Freeze this frame. Now call down your dark and your cold and be damned.

Wow. When he started looking back on the war with Kronos as the good old days--that was sad.

I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.