Memory Blanket Quotes & Sayings

Memory is a slippery thing. When something terrible happens to you, like the loss of someone you love ... memory can turn into a soft blanket that hides you from the loss. — Kathi Appelt

Acting is a tough business, but if you really want to do it, you should go full force. — Madeline Carroll

That night, I waited until Baba fell asleep, and then folded a blanket. I used it as a prayer rug. Bowing my head to the ground, I recited half-forgotten verses from the Koran-verses the mullah had made us commit to memory in Kabul-and asked for kindness from a god I wasn't sure existed. I envied the mullah now, envied his faith and certainty. — Khaled Hosseini

Remember me when you do pray that hope doth lead from day to day. — Anne Boleyn

There was no point in telling anyone what really happened. People would see only what they want to. — Jessica Sorensen

Every child must master empathy-based ethics because the rules are changing; the less they apply the less learning them has positive impact — Bill Drayton

To demand the absolute and to be content with absolutely nothing else results in a skepticism. — Bernard J.F. Lonergan

Al, close your eyes." He swallows. His eyes look excited and terrified at the same time.
He closes his own and leans towards me, his hands on the blanket, supporting the weight of his upper body. I lean in too until I can feel his breath on my lips. My hands are now joined in my lap. My eyes are still open. I want the memory of this moment burned in my mind forever. — V. Anton

Communicate. Listen to your customers, associates and competitors. — J. Willard Marriott

I've done a song with almost everybody in the game. — Two Chainz

My first memory of loving music happened so early. We would always go to the beach in the summer and I would run from blanket to blanket, from family to family and just sing Lion King songs acapella. — Taylor Swift

I remember tearing up the first time I read Nabokov's description, in 'Speak, Memory,' of his father being tossed on a blanket by cheering muzhiks, with its astonishingly subtle foreshadowing of grief and mourning. — Michael Chabon

She released his hand and sat back. That air of sadness had descended on her once more. His father had carried a similar melancholy after his mother had passed; Poe would see it descend on him like a shadow, settle over his shoulders like a blanket made of warmth and memory and longing and loss. Leia wore something made of the same material, and not for the first time Poe wondered how she had come by it and, perhaps more importantly, who had given it to her. — Greg Rucka

There is an old lady who lives on the moon. You can see her spinning thread on her spinning wheel. Her isolation and distance from the world has made her a sage. She weaves stories. She knows every wanderer who crosses the sea grass meadows, she knows every woman who uses her blackened blue hands to grind grain in the hand mill, she is friends with the little girl who got lost in the corn fields and was never found, and she knows the story of the boy who played flute on the little hill when his lambs slept. Grandmother said that if I had been a good girl the moon lady would weave for me a magical blanket and every stitch will be made from a moment of my life, a forgotten moment, a memory. Every stitch would be special. It would be made especially for me. — Kanza Javed

Wilder watched Armstrong head back to video village under the lights of the set, attacking another apple as she went, and thought, Apples and women. Not a good history there. — Jennifer Crusie

In setting down these recollections of my early years so far removed from their unfolding, I am fooled, as all are, by time itself. My parents, long gone from my world, live again. Memory, which so confounds our waking life with anticipation and regret, may well be our one true earthly consolation when time slips out of joint." Chapter 6, The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue

"Assembled in a small circle, our faces glowed in the flickering light of the campfire, signs of anxious weariness in our tired eyes, but the meal would prove revitalizing. As the fire burnt down and our bellies filled, a calm complacency settled upon us, like a blanket drawn around our shoulders by absent mothers." Chapter 20, The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue — Keith Donohue

Sweet May lies fresh before us, To life the young flowers leap, And through the Heaven's blue o'er us The rosy cloudlets sweep. — Heinrich Heine