Quotes About Memory

After all, isn't the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?

The entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room to the next only by exercising our memories and imaginations, but most of us, in our laziness, rarely exercised these capacities, and forever remained in the same room.

it seemed to me that the entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room to the next only by exercising out memories and imaginations, but most of us, in our laziness, rarely exercised these capacities, and forever remained in the same room

The past is always an invented land.

It was the happiest moment of my life, though I didn't know it.

Remembering the past always comes with an image or a view attached.

To be left with only the trace of a memory is to gaze at an armchair that's still molded to the form of a love who has left never to return: It is to grieve, dear reader, it is to weep.

To know is to remember that you've seen.To see is to know without remembering. Thus painting is remembering the blackness.

Hiçbir ÅŸey, her ÅŸeyi unutabilmenin verdiÄŸi huzurdan deÄŸerli olamaz.

Kafamda bir tuhafl?k var, dedi Mevlut. Ne yapsam bu alemde yapayaln?z hissediyorum kendimi. Ben yan?ndayken bir daha asla öyle hissetmeyeceksin, dedi Rayiha anaç bir tav?rla. Mevlut çayhanenin camlar?nda yans?yan Rayiha'n?n hayalinin kendisine ÅŸefkatle sokulduÄŸunu görüp bu an? hiç unutamayaca??n? anlad?.

They, like me, like all of us, had, once upon a time, in a past so far away it seemed like heaven, caught by chance a glimpse of an inner essence, only to forget what it was. It was this lost memory that pained us, reduced us to ruins, though still we struggled to be ourselves.

Ist nicht eigentliches Ziel von Roman und Museum, unsere Erinnerungen so aufrichtig wie möglich zu erzählen und dadurch unser Glück in das Glück anderer zu verwandeln?

These exhibitions, and the stories behind them, should also in due course have their own catalogs and novels. As visitors admire the objects and honor the memory of Füsun and Kemal, with due reverence, they will understand that, like the tales of Leyla and Mecnun or Hüsn and AÈ™k, this is not simply a story of lovers, but of the entire realm, that is, of Istanbul.

In order to find meaning and readerly pleasure in the universe the writer reveals to us, we feel we must search for the novel's secret center, and we therefore try to embed every detail of the novel in our memory, as if learning each leaf of a tree by heart.

There were some thoughts—such as a memory of running under the pouring rain, and how it felt—that I couldn't even begin to put into words…Yet their image was clear in my mind.

Çünkü bir baÅŸkas?n?n belleÄŸini a??r a??r edinmekten baÅŸka neydi ki okumak?

RötuÅŸlanm?? fotoÄŸraflar ruhlar? öldürüyor.

K?rm?z? Saçl? Kad?n'?n arada akl?ma geldiÄŸini deÄŸil Ali'den,asl?nda kendimden bile saklamak istiyordum.

Haf?zan?n bahçesi çoraklaÅŸmaya baÅŸlay?nca," demiÅŸti o son akÅŸamlar?n birinde Celal, "insan elde kalan son aÄŸaçlar?n ve güllerin üzerine ÅŸefkatle titrer. Kuruyup gitmesinler diye, sabahtan akÅŸama kadar onlar? sulay?p okÅŸuyorum: Hat?rl?yorum, hat?rl?yorum ki unutmayay?m!

Cuando el jardín de la memoria comienza a secarse -le había dicho Celâl una de aquellas noches-, uno tiembla con amor por los últimos árboles y rosales que le quedan. Los riego y los acaricio de la mañana a la noche para que no se sequen: ¡recuerdo, recuerdo que no quiero olvidar!

Eskileri bir bütün içinde sanmak eskiler kadar eski bir yan?lg?d?r!

Whenever I think of these writers together, I am reminded that what gives a city its special character is not just its topography or its buildings but rather the sum total of every chance encounter, every memory, letter, color, and image jostling in its inhabitants' crowded memories after they have been living, like me, on the same streets for fifty years.

By then I'd already learned that thoughts sometimes come to us in words, and sometimes in images. There were some thoughts - such as a memory of running under the pouring rain, and how it felt - that I couldn't even begin to put into words … Yet their image was clear in my mind. And there were other things that I could describe in words but were otherwise impossible to visualize: black light, my mother's death, infinity.

Todas las civilizaciones, como la gente que hay en los cementerios, son mortales. Y nosotros sabemos, como el hecho de que vamos a morir, que las civilizaciones que han llegado a su término no volverán nunca más.