Quotes About Memory

My father might be dead but he would never be out of my life. Never. My

It was that feeling of not being able to quite capture it, not being able to commit the moment, the feeling, to memory because it was too fleeting. She

She didn't leave an imprint, not as much as a single impression behind. She

I've come to realize that being around someone with Alzheimer's is like being around someone who's really, really wasted. And like someone who's had way too much too drink, his mood and attention swings from one subject and emotion to another. Now he pauses, spots something

A story about the burdens of remembering and the costs of forgetting,

And when he is out of sight, quickly also is he out of mind.

You'll hear me say this again: save your brain for higher-level thinking. Use your organizer for storing information. Don't trust your brain.

The advantage of subdividing the heap is that multiple threads can each allocate objects at the same time without interfering with one another. Further, by allocating object used by the same thread from the same memory region, cache hit rates may improve.

A statesman is a successful politician who is dead.

The thing one reads and likes, and then forgets, is of no account. The thing that stays, and haunts one, and refuses to be forgotten, that is the sincere thing.

Having contact sheets for all sorts of episodes in your life seemed to me intriguing and desirable. So much of my own history is beclouded by time, but a few sharp rays, in the form of pictures, falling upon a given day would resuscitate whole contexts. And from this archipelago of moments, scenes, episodes, you could see the larger tectonic movements of your life forming and unforming. You would be reminded of who you are. Or at least of who you were.

You are never truly together with one you love until the person in question is dead and actually inside you.

John Brown's body lies a-moldering in the grave,His soul is marching on.

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

There is no antidote against the opium of time, which temporally considereth all things: our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors. Gravestones tell truth scarce forty years. Generations pass while some trees stand, and old families last not three oaks.

Our fathers find their graves in our short memories, and sadly tell us how we may be buried in our survivors. Grave-stones tell truth scarce forty years: generations pass while some trees stand, and old families last not but three oaks.

Who knows whether the best of men be known, or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known account of time? The first man had been as unknown as the last, and Methuselah's long life had been his only chronicle.

History is story, too. You don't encounter her directly; you've only heard of her through narrative of one sort or another.

While the memory of guilt is far from pleasant (like 'wormwood and gall'), it has the curative intent of restoring us into an awareness of the constancy of God's love, new every morning. God's mercy is not spent even with our worst misdeeds.

History a distillation of rumor.

History is a great dust heap.

In a certain sense all men are historians.

The past is all holy to us; the dead are all holy; even they that were wicked when alive.

In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.