A Quote by Sara Ryan

So now she and I are friends - not with benefits, but memories. — © Sara Ryan
So now she and I are friends - not with benefits, but memories.

Quote Author

Sometimes when she told stories about the past her eyes would get teary from all the memories she had, but they weren't tears. She wasn't crying. They were just the memories, leaking out.
I attended the public schools.And I have happy memories and strong memories of those days and good memories of the good sense and the decency of my friends and my neighbors.
Once best friends now strangers with memories.
My libertarian friends are probably getting a little upset now but I think that's because they never appreciate the benefits of local fascism.
I finally understood that no matter what I did, or who I found, I-he-none of us-would ever be able to win over the memories she had of Dad, memories that soothed her even while they made her sad, because she'd built a world out of them she knew how to survive on even if no one else could.
She had lost all our memories for ever, and it was as though by dying she had robbed me of part of myself. I was losing my individuality. It was the first stage of my own death, the memories dropping off like gangrened limbs.
It's great to reminisce about good memories of my past. It was enjoyable when it was today. So learning to enjoy today has two benefits: it gives me happiness right now, and it becomes a good memory later.
And yet, even as she spoke, she knew that she did not wish to come back. not to stay, not to live. She loved the little yellow cottage more than she loved any place on earth. but she was through with it except in her memories.
She never thought she was good at making friends. But maybe she was just trying to be friends with the wrong people.
Because computers have memories, we imagine that they must be something like our human memories, but that is simply not true. Computer memories work in a manner alien to human memories. My memory lets me recognize the faces of my friends, whereas my own computer never even recognizes me. My computer's memory stores a million phone numbers with perfect accuracy, but I have to stop and think to recall my own.
Oh look at how she listens She says nothing of what she thinks She just goes stumbling through her memories Staring out on to Grey Street
Now, the term 'friend' is a little loose. People mock the 'friending' on social media, and say, 'Gosh, no one could have 300 friends!' Well, there are all kinds of friends. Those kinds of 'friends,' and work friends, and childhood friends, and dear friends, and neighborhood friends, and we-walk-our-dogs-at-the-same-time friends, etc.
Friends with benefits? More than friends? Don't sample the goodies unless you're willing to risk addiction and withdrawal.
All bad memories erased! Now you can make new ones-good memories.
I'll always have the memories of guys I lost in Vietnam. And I've lost friends since the war, but I'll always have the memories. The riches are great, but riches aren't everything, because when you go you can only take your memories and your word and your honor to the grave with you.
I shield my eyes from the sun to see her cold look—the expression I saw in my mind even before I looked at her. She looks older to me than she ever has, stern and tough and worn by time. I feel that way, too. “These people have no regard for human life,” she says. “They’re about to wipe the memories of all our friends and neighbors. They’re responsible for the deaths of a large majority of our old faction.” She sidesteps me and marches toward the door. “I think they’re lucky I’m not going to kill them.
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