Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Fondly. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Fondly Quotes And Sayings by 92 Authors including Sandra Cisneros,James Joyce,Jean De La Fontaine,Edgar Allan Poe,Al Cash for you to enjoy and share.
I'm filled with a new joy mixed with old grief.
Our path through life is strewn with many such sad memories: and were we to brood upon them always we could not find the heart to go on bravely with our work among the living ... therefore, I will not linger on the past. I will not let any gloomy moralising intrude ...
Sadness flies away on the wings of time.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea
Some ocean throbbing far and free
With storms - but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.
Memories dancing through ageless ripples of time, waiting to be shared.
At least it was never dull, my darling. And you will be remembered long after we've all turned to dust. But so will I.
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.
Passionately desired, graciously received.
However much grief I carried, I liked the way my life was tending, these bright new directions. It's only human, to mourn and to reach toward forwardness at once.
Some memories are best left to wither.
Sad memories often contain an element of nostalgia.
The memories we're fondest of are not always our own
Nostalgia is the only acceptable form of sadness.
We may not remember life, but we never forget touches of love.
There is a lovely warmness about feelings of nostalgia as though in one's head one is putting on a pair of comfy old slippers and curling up in front of a fire.
There are moments of mingled sorrow and tenderness, which hallow the caresses of affection.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so wrapped up in someone that I saw only him, caring not a jot what onlookers might think. I ached with nostalgia for a younger, more responsive me, who seemed to feel things more intensely.
I don't hold memories in my hand, but I'll never let them go.
Like a dream,
Whatever I enjoy
Will become a memory;
The past is not revisited.
I look back to a happy childhood.
Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
Memories are like putty. We make of them what we will.
Our tears fatten upon our memories of joy.
With grace and beauty, feel.
The human race tends to remember the abuses to which it has been subjected rather than the endearments. What's left of kisses? Wounds, however, leave scars.
The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes.
shone kindly and steadily like the face of an old friend.
Some memories made in time will last ages tossed aside.
Grief moves through the system much as love does. It seeks expression. So I put my grief where it naturally belonged, in the company of an old and experienced wound. I gathered my feelings, shattered, scattered, and wild, and locked them in the same place where I kept my feelings about my daughter.
Still he loved on, and on, ever more fondly.
Because we had known the good times, I think my brother and I felt the loss more acutely. My father's waning presence, his chronic absence, his disappearance. Now he was just a memory.
Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.
Recalling days of sadness, memories haunt me. Recalling days of happiness, I haunt my memories.
My loved ones may vanish through death but my memories live on
Childhood itself is scarcely more lovely than a cheerful, kindly, sunshiny old age.
Grief dares us to love once more.
THERE ARE MEMORIES we cannot escape. We take them with us wherever we go, however far, like it or not. They pursue us or accompany us in good times and in bad. We smell their scents. We hear their sounds. We delight in them or dread them. By day and by night. My
As years passed away I have formed the habit of looking back upon that former self as upon another person, the remembrance of whose emotions has been a solace in adversity and added zest to the enjoyment of prosperity.
I'm not a nostalgic person: I never look back; I always forget.
It is hard to hate what one has loved, and a half-extinguished fire is soon relit.
Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance.
Memories drifting and piling up quietly, like letters on the doormat of an empty house.
You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.
I have great memories.
I was infatuated once with a foolish, besotted affection, that clung to him in spite of his unworthiness, but it is fairly gone now
wholly crushed and withered away; and he has none but himself and his vices to thank for it.
NOSTALGIA IS A WEAPON
Remembrance is a strange thing. With love its pain is bearable. With bitterness it simply destroys.
The pain passes, but the beauty remains
The impressions of childhood are never obliterated.
Memories are the height of poetry only when they are memories of happiness. When they graze wounds over which scars have formed they become an aching pain.
Only the memories.
The sorrows of childhood are mercifully passing, for it is only when maturity has rendered soil mellow that grief will root very deeply. Stephen's
Fondly do we hope, ferverently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away.
Love us so short; forgetting is so long
Always have old memories, and young hopes.
So many memories, so much joy and sadness.
How not to miss those days when the sun was a happy companion that stayed to play all year round and kissed me a careless nut brown? When Mother caught the sweet rain in her well behind the house, and the air was so clear that the grass smelled green?
To be left with only the trace of a memory is to gaze at an armchair that's still molded to the form of a love who has left never to return: It is to grieve, dear reader, it is to weep.
We who are left, how shall we look again
Happily on the sun or feel the rain
Without remembering how they who went
Ungrudgingly and spent
Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain?
From the depths of his memory arose a tingling sadness, fragile and pure like morning dew, tinged with a rosy hue.
There were many tears, many unsure times, many troubled moments. The fun memories were only a few, but even so, those memories will shine bright like stardust, and continue to shine on in my heart.
I bow in reverence before the emotions of every melted heart ... The more intense the delight in their presence, the more poignant the impression of their absence ... When the tears of bereavement have had their natural flow, they lead us again to life and love's generous joy.
Memory can glean, but can never renew. It brings us joys faint as is the perfume of the flowers, faded and dried, of the summer that is gone.
Fond man! the vision of a moment made! Dream of a dream! and shadow of a shade!
I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.
We bury love; Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
Oft in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone Now dimmed and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken.
Nostalgia is the saddest form of glee.
It's the great mystery of human life that old grief passes gradually into quiet tender joy. The mild serenity of age takes the place of the riotous blood of youth.
Memory is sweet.
Even when it's painful, memory is sweet.
Memories are strange things. Withough being something I can hold in my hand, they wield a beguiling power over me. Like a mirage in the noontime heat of summer, they dance before my inner eyes and beckon me to find water where there is not water.
All memories soften with age, and the good ones are also the most perishable ( ... ) conjured up till they faded to nothing. Like cave paintings by candlelight, she could only glimpse them now in the dark from the corner of her eye.
I have had playmates, I have had companions; In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days - All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
it was not even imaginative; it lives in my memory mainly as a period of humdrum, prosaic happiness and awakes none of the poignant nostalgia with which I look back on my much less happy boyhood. It is not settled happiness but momentary joy that glorifies the past. To
Like love, grief fades in and out.
How vast a memory has Love!
No grief so soft, no pain so sweet, as love's delicious melancholy.
Grief is a peculiar emotion.
There were some memories, though, that never faded.
Memories were especially dear, when they were all you had left of a loved one to hold on to.
I adore forgotten words, long lost folk tales, and books with pages soft and crumbling. I am a collector of scents and memories. The things that others bury are the things I hold most dear.
Still are the thoughts to memory dear.
When age chills the blood, when our pleasures are past -
For years fleet away with the wings of the dove -
The dearest remembrance will still be the last,
Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of love.
Remembering that moment stirs something inside -- anger, at first, and then a deep, hollow sadness that ripples through me in its own spiderweb pattern.
I began a lifelong affair with nostalgia, with only the vaguest notions of what I was nostalgic for.
For me, there is a strange beauty in remembering.
For a long time, she held a special place in my heart. I kept this special place just for her, like a "Reserved" sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant. Despite the fact that I was sure I'd never see her again.
We loved our son like the sea loves an island, always surrounding him with our arms, always touching him and crashing upon his shore with our care and concern. When he was gone, the sea had only itself to contemplate.
The memory fades, and I'm left hanging on to the ghosts of his
words.
The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day of work. Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits out of his hat, he drew love from his small body.
Memories can be hard to forget and painful to remember that those who hate us now once loved us.
It appears that time has turned that young woman, who imagined herself a romantic heroine, into something of a comic character, but I remain fond of her. We are relatives, after all.
Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.
There were some feelings you never forgot.
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget...
Gently - so have good men taught -
Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide
Into the new; the eternal flow of things,
Like a bright river of the fields of heaven,
Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
I like revisiting, at certain times, spots where I was once happy; I like to shape the present in the image of the irretrievable past.
I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!
In numbers warmly pure and sweetly strong.
With a little heartache;
Gone with the time,
Are certain memories,
Intricately designed.
To call & narrate
A story of blissful sunshine.