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Ellen Hopkins Quotes about Memories

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Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.

Now that I have opened that bottle of memories they're pouring out like wine, crimson and bittersweet.

Ellen Hopkins
Memories, Wine, Bottles
Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Impulse”, p.83, Simon and Schuster

Wish you could turn off the questions, turn off the voices, turn off all sound. Yearn to close out the ugliness, close out the filthiness, close out all light. Long to cast away yesterday, cast away memory, cast away all jeapordy. Pray you could somehow stop uncertainty, somehow stop the loathing, somehow stop the pain. Act on your impulse, swallow the bottle, cut a little deeper, put the gun to your chest.

Ellen Hopkins
Pain, Memories, Cutting
Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Impulse”, p.7, Simon and Schuster

All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.

Ellen Hopkins
Pain, Memories, Lying

Memory is a tenuous thing, like a rainbow's end or a camera with a failing lens.

Ellen Hopkins
Memories, Rainbow, Cameras
Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Impulse”, p.21, Simon and Schuster

Memory is a tenuous thing. . . . flickering glimpses, blue and white, like ancient, decomposing 16mm film. Happiness escapes me there, where faces are vague and yesterday seems to come tied up in ribbons of pain. Happiness? I look for it intead in today, where memory is something I can still touch, still rely on. I find it in the smiles of new friends, the hope blossoming inside. My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.

Ellen Hopkins
Memories, Pain, Past

Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?

Ellen Hopkins
Sweet, Memories, Too Much
Ellen Hopkins (2008). “Impulse”, p.498, Simon and Schuster

My happiest memories have no place in the past; they are those I have yet to create.

Ellen Hopkins
Memories, Past

My body Healed quickly. But the wound to my psyche was deep. Wide. First aid, too little, too late, left me hemorrhaging inside, the blood unstaunched by psychological bandage or love's healing magic. Eventually it scabbed over, a thick, ugly welt of memory. I work to conceal it, but no matter how hard I try, once in a while something makes me pick at it until the scarring bleeds. In my arms, Ashante cries, innocence ripped apart by circumstance. Bloodied by inhuman will. Time will prove a tourniquet. But she will always be at risk of infection. (124)

Ellen Hopkins
Memories, Healing, Blood
Ellen Hopkins (2013). “Fallout”, p.124, Simon and Schuster

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