Quotes About Memory

They are not lost. Nor are they in a better place. They are gone. As I approach the end of my years, I know that grief, like regret, settles into our DNA and remains forever a part of us. I

want them to remember me as I am, not as I will be when the cancer has had its way.

Inside, the house echoed the voice of a man who wasn't there.

He thinks one's life can be distilled to a narrative that has a beginning and an end. He knows nothing about the kind of sacrifice that, once made, can never be either fully forgotten or fully borne.

She heard the name. At first it meant nothing to her, just another sound. Then she remembered. She'd been Juliette. And Isabelle before that. And the Nightingale. Not just F-5491.

she hardly missed him. In fact, she didn't miss him at all. She missed the idea of him. She missed a second plate at the dinner table, another body in this bed that seemed to have enlarged in his absence.

Daniel laughed. How long would she remember exactly that sound? Not long enough. She knew that now. Memories—even the best of them—faded.

some images, once seen, can never be forgotten.

We understand the value of forgetting, the lure of reinvention.

The past has a clarity I can no longer see in the present. I

and love took shape in the air around them, a regret and memory-filled version, maybe, sad around the edges, but love.

Be brave. It was the last thing she said to me in this world, and I wish I'd told her that her courage would always guide me.

sometimes love was a choice. Like the tide, it could ebb and flow, and there were slack-tide times when a woman had nothing to believe in except a memory, nothing to cling to except the choice she'd made a long time ago.

I think its just human nature to wish that the people who are gone from our lives are going to come back.

Loss would forever be etched on the child like a tattoo; it might fade over time, but it would never be erased.

They are erasing us, and we are helping them. "Because someone should remember. How else will they find their way home?

One's reward for marching through the decades is a gradual process of erasure.

She wished she could grab the memories like lifelines and hold on before she went under. But she found them slippery, impossible to grasp.

Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last.

Hearts can do that, you know: hold on to something when the rest of you has forgotten about it. Hearts have longer memories than brains.

If you're young, and have grown up only since the Internet has been dissolving the distinctions between past and present and old and new, the sci-fi writer and futurist William Gibson says, "I suspect that you inhabit a sort of endless digital Now, a state of atemporality enabled by our increasingly efficient communal prosthetic memory.

I only remember a few things about Jimmy Carter. He had big lips and liked peanuts. I now know that Jimmy Carter was and is a good man.

Drugs are a waste of time. They destroy your memory and your self-respect and everything that goes along with your self esteem.

All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true.