Quotes About Memory

Historia vero testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae. History is the witness of the times, the light of truth, the life of memory, the mistress of life.

Great, you ruined my life and you don't even remember it.

It's a different story depending on where you start: who's good, who's bad, what it all means. Each of us shapes our stories so they make sense of who we think we are. I can begin when Cassie and I were best friends; or I can begin when we weren't anymore; or I can begin at the dark end and tell it all backward.

But do you know this idea of the imaginary homeland? Once you set out from shore on your little boat, once you embark, you'll never truly be at home again. What you've left behind exists only in memory, and your ideal place becomes some strange imaginary concoction of all you've left behind at every stop.

But do you know this idea of the imaginary homeland? Once you set out from shore on your little boat, once you embark, you'll never truly be at home again. What you've left behind exists only in your memory, and your ideal place becomes some strange imaginary concoction of all you've left behind at every stop.

But our friendship was, at the same time, like a city you hadn't visited in a long time, where you know the streets by heart but the shops and restaurants have changed, so you can find your way from the church to the town square, no problem, but you don't know where to get ice cream or a decent sandwich.

Like a Zen master, she reduced to the essences: I do not need to walk around the Museum of Fine Arts; I do not need to be pushed around the MFA in the chair; I do not need the MFA at all, because its treasures, as I love them, are imprinted in my memory; and if they are wrongly memorized-a lily where there are tulips, the boy's torn hat rakish at the wrong angle-then this only makes the pictures the more mine.

She was filled with…a delicious blend of loneliness and fear. That's right, I can still remember how she tasted…she was absolutely delicious.

Hence, because flash cards are being used in markets completely different from those Quantum and Seagate typically engage—palmtop computers, electronic clipboards, cash registers, electronic cameras, and so on—the value network framework would predict that firms similar to Quantum and Seagate are not likely to build market-leading positions in flash memory. This

an inevitable truth of life: Not every foodie memory is a good foodie memory).

George A. Miller, "The Magical Number Seven, Plus or Minus Two: Some Limits on Our Capacity for Processing Information," Psychological Review 63, 81–97 (1956).

Unconventional," said Jenkins. "What is conventional?" asked Andrew. "Living in a dream? Living for a memory? you must be weary of it." "Not

Had the memory worn thin? Had the debt he owed been paid? Had he discharged the last ounce of devotion? "There are worlds out there," Andrew was saying, "and life on some of them. Even some intelligence. There is work to do." He

Memory, prophecy, and fantasy— The past, the future, and The dreaming moment between— Are all in one country, Living one immortal day. To know that is Wisdom. To use it is the Art.

There was a memory and a promise of blood in the air.

Who can call a man dead whose words still hush and whose sentiments move?

What worth was a man who could not be haunted?

I'm a poet,' the young man said, 'And it's my job to remember the sadness of things.

To every hour, its mystery. At dawn, the riddles of life and light. At noon, the conundrums of solidity. At three, in the hum and heat of the day, a phantom moon, already high. At dusk, memory. And at midnight? Oh, then the enigma of time itself; of a day that will never come again passing into history while we sleep.

Memory, prophecy and fantasy—the past, the future and the dreaming moment between—are all one country, living one immortal day. To know that is Wisdom. To use it is the Art.

He wouldn't be remembered well.

Among his memories of the whole and the human, sharpest was that of Decker.

Can you hear me, Todd? There's an ambulance on its way." For a moment his eyes opened a little wider, and he seemed to be making an effort to concentrate on the face in front of him. "It's Maxine," she said. "Remember me?

Nobody's allowed to come and mourn, you see. Out of sight, out of mind: that's the idea. Of course, that's not the way it works, is it? People forget prime ministers, but they remember murderers.