Her memories of that night have grown worse, not better.

Being in the room again, my memories of December 26 grew quite distinct.

His memory had grown into a series of fading snapshots.

Henry's memories, on the other hand, had only grown stronger.

As the years flew by, those memories would grow dimmer.

But the memory of those days grows dimmer with time.

At the same time that these memories grew, the city kept changing.

The memory of this snow will grow old with the people.

Finally, even that memory grew dim and he killed to live, to survive.

More than 30 years have passed since the horse's last race, and memories grow dim.