Quotes About Memory

what our father called a chifforobe

The wheel spins, the ball bounces, bounces, bounces. Where will it land? Will you get the girl? Will your name be read from stages, the recipient of important prizes? Will your name be remembered? How will it be remembered? Will you be remembered at all? Everything is in the before moment. That's where life is richest, in that moment of possibility and anti- say it, the audience screamed at the screen - pation.

Of all the butterflies that chose to stay, I'm in love with the one that got away.

because we all know that the books we've loved best are seldom the ones we esteem the most highly

I kissed you because i wanted to see if reality could ever compare to a memory. It doesn't. It's ever better. And I want more, Margot.

En este país nuestro ha sido tanta la guerra, tanta, soportada por demasiado tiempo, que los vivos ya estamos acostumbrados y los muertos olvidados y no hay quien registre el catálogo. La violencia pesa y pasa, así sin más, pasa y arrasa, y la muerte se ha ido volviendo vida cotidiana.

Yo sin embargo pensaba en ti, que es lo que hago cuando no quiero pensar en nada.

Yo mientras tanto pensaba en ti, que es lo que hago cuando no quiero pensar en nada.

Escribir esta historia se me ha convertido en una carrera perdida de antemano contra el tiempo y la desmemoria, que son dos hermanos gemelos de dedos largos que todo lo tocan.

Digamos que me fascina la textura que adquieres en el recuerdo.

Quise saber si olía a alcanfor porque me parecía que habría quedado impregnado, como su progenitor. Pero sólo me olió a mí misma, a mi propia sangre ya a mi mismo olor.

That lost literature which only death reads.

Frankie didn't know that the boys opened every letter, any letter, as if it were a dispatch from another world, a kinder one, a pleasant dream they'd once had when they were young. She didn't know they weren't young any more.

She had become unmoored from the present, loose and untethered, her mind rolling back into her memories, rolling forward into the future, anticipating, and then dropping again into this torturous, unbearable present.

Frankie wouldn't always let herself remember these things. Most of the time, she didn't think about them at all. Yet she had her quiet days, her pensive ones, those days when she dug through her memories, trying to find the truth at the bottom of them. As if the truth were a jewel yo could unearth and hold i your hand, as if the truth wasn't more like something you'd find under a rock, gray and faceless and squirming away from the light.

What?" Finn remembered sitting at the kitchen table with Sean, both of them trying to say the world "table" in Polish. Roza had said, "You have tongue like cow!" and laughed and laughed. "What?" Sean said again. He had tongue like cow, he had mind like cow. Dull, wordless.

Conscious fun takes effort. This seeming paradox—Why should fun be work?—stops us in our tracks. So we overindulge in effortless fun (scrolling through Instagram . . .) It is the effortful fun that makes today different, and makes today land in memory. You don't say "Where did the time go?" when you remember where the time went.

autobiographical narrative running through our brains, is really three selves. There is the "anticipating self," who looked forward to that ice skating trip, the "experiencing self," who would do it, and the "remembering self" (a concept Nobel Prize–winning psychologist Daniel Kahneman popularized in his research), who would look back fondly on the memory of those kids zipping around on the ice.

The material was wrinkled, yet even in the low light it remembered the shape of two bodies.

Is there a moment when you'll never be able to remember something again?" "No," said his wife. "Your mind will never lose anything forever that's worth keeping." She gave his temple a playful push, and he let his head fall to one side. "It's all in there.

If I allow my gaze to travel higher-which I won't-I'll see the solid gold basketball charm on a chain that my mother gave him for his eighteenth birthday nestled in his coarse, whorled chest hair. My front teeth throb as the memory of the charm bangs against them.

You remember how much I come? ~Rush

Dear reader who finds this, if I am gone, My name is Jinny I lived here on this island. I loved it. I stayed. I held on. Then, after a pause, Jinny added a line. She'd never be able to write it in ink, bit it was there all the same, a ghost in the letter. As she slid the piece of paper into her pocket, she whispered it aloud. I held on Too long.

Dear reader who finds this, if I am gone My name is Jinny I lived on this island I loved it I held on Too long