Quotes About Memory

Oh, Marya Morevna! Do you know how the church-folk call me, me and my daughter Gamayun, when they paint us on their ceilings? They call us archangels, and say that we live in heaven, where no vine of sorrow or memory grows. That is where I sent you, not to heaven—tscha! I know nothing of that place. But to a place like the ceiling of a church.

Perhaps memory is a thing that everyone involved has to work at, like stitching up a big quilt out of everything that ever happened to you.

But luck can be spent, like money; and lost, like a memory; and wasted, like a life. If

But I shall choose to remember you, and it would be nice if it went both ways. That's how it generally goes in my country." But does it? September thought. If a body is hurt, they try to forget the person who hurt them and never think about the pain again.

That's what a map is, you know. Just a memory. Just a wish to go back home - someday, somehow.

The dead know how to savor as the living never can.

But a person's smell and their alarms and borrowed shirts and secret words linger for a long time. Much longer than a house.

Let it be over", she pleaded within herself. "Let it never have happened—any of it. Let me be young again, and the story just starting.

For this is the constant sorrow of the dead, that though they drink and eat and dream much as they did before, they know they are dead, and yearn desperately to live again, to feel blood inside them once more, to remember who they were. For the memory of the dead is short, and thought by thought they lose all sense of their former lives until they drift from place to place as shades, their eyes hollow. After a time, they believe they are alive again.

This is not a lie: Memory has the taste and texture of cooked meat. Eat it and live. Remember, but only what it is licit to remember. In Aerograd, the word for meat and memory are the same.

He meant to kill me...No, not kill me – make me forget. Forget everything. He said we'd live together in a house of pumpkin and gold – yes, once I couldn't remember why I'd come to Fairyland-Below, or recall Fairyland-Above, or even Omaha and Mother and Father and any reason not to live in Tain and feast every night! How could he? That's as bad as killing, to take away everything a person is.

So I talk to the dead. They're the only ones who can see the whole story. All they've got is story.

Aamu, Aamu, I am alive I am so long already I am so black in the black of you I am hungry I am hunger give me seal and salmon and seagull give me love and memory and all the songs you know I cannot get enough I cannot ever get enough, Aamu, I already have teeth so many teeth like yours, Aamu, feed me forever, let me bite down into your soul and shake and shake never let go And I love the song of my son moaning and echoing in the cage of my skeleton where he is safe.

Life outraces memory.

All these years I've had a story in my mind, the story about us that never really existed. And because of that story, I've kept you framed up on the wall in a little box of nostalgic moonlight.

The traumatized, we might say, carry an impossible history within them. Or they become themselves the symptom of a history that they cannot entirely possess (and thus which possesses them).

Repressed memory of childhood sexual abuse usually begins to surface around age 30 when natural electro-chemical changes occur in the brain. The is a widely known and established fact. The fact that the Vatican placed a ten-year statute of limitations on reporting such abuse eliminates a vast number of their victims from joining the class action suit. Neither Cathy nor Kelly is eligible for compensation under this rule. How many others are being ignored?

Does he smoke marijuana?" I asked, aware that marijuana's mind expansion properties are the motive behind the government's adamant opposition to the herb. Since it can render mind control uncontrollable by penetrating memory compartmentalization, marijuana use is strictly forbidden in the military, special forces, among spies, etc.

am an unreliable narrator, hypervigilant to the point of being paranoid, imposing all my own insecurities onto him. I can't even recall if I actually felt that pain or imagined it, since I have rewritten this memory so many times I have mauled it down to nothing, erasing him down until he was a smudge of resentment while I was a smudge of entitlement until we both smudged into me.

Asians are always mistaken for other Asians, but the least we can do to honor the dead is to ensure they're never mistaken for anyone else again.

Memories were fine but you couldn't touch them, smell them or hold them. They were never exactly as the moment was, and they faded with time.

And yet some memories cannot be rooted out like weeds, no matter how much one wills to do it.

My objective was to awaken their hearts to the ideas dormant there, rather than to implant facts into their memory.

Marse Willa Viley