Quotes About Memory

she let her mind drift back to the day it was signed, some six years earlier.

the bloodstained shirt he had taken off earlier

The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more.

What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.

They had buried him under our elm tree, they said -- yet this was not totally true. For he really lay buried in my heart.

I can sometimes hear her music now, after thirty years -- and remember the leaves falling on some smoky autumn afternoon, the air crisp and the sounds of dogs barking, and train whistles far away.

On hearing this remark, my heart jumped clear up in my throat.. I thought surely it was going to hop right out on the depot platform. I looked up and tried to tell him who I was, but something went wrong. When the words finally came out they sounded like the squeaky old pulley on our well when Mama drew up a bucket of water.

And not there, not there, not there, Your laughing face and your wind-blown hair Leave not even a ghost in the garden.

You said that death was not the end; most true. Death was not stronger than my love for you. But since sweet love so lightly gives, my friend, We are not dead, and yet - this is the end.

He tried to remember her as a thin little urchin trailing across the fields with Garrick behind her. But that was no use at all. The urchin was gone forever. It was not beauty she had grown overnight but the appeal of youth, which was beauty in its own right.

Chi sarebbe stata quel mattino: l'allegra domestica che vedeva alla luce del giorno o la sconosciuta dalla bocca di seta che aveva incontrato in quella notte d'estate?

The grass soon grows over a battlefield but never over a scaffold.

A modern dictator with the resources of science at his disposal can easily lead the public on from day to day, destroying all persistency of thought and aim, so that memory is blurred by the multiplicity of daily news and judgment baffled by its perversion

El pan comido es pronto olvidado.

The only guide to a man is his conscience, the only shield to his memory is the rectitude and sincerity of his actions.

The old capital is solitary and deserted. No sound of man breaks the silence of its streets. Only memory broods in the garden where the Pashas used to walk, and the courtyard where the Imperial envoy fell.

when our lives have faded, history will pronounce its cool, detached, and shadowy verdict.

Here we stir the embers of the past and light the beacons of the future. Old flags are raised anew; the passions of vanished generations awake; beneath the shell-torn soil of the twentieth century the bones of long dead warriors and victims are exposed, and the wail of lost causes sounds in the wind.

El olvido generoso tiende su velo, los tullidos se apartan y los seres dolientes se desvanecen en el triste crepúsculo de la memoria.

I proceeded to a joint review of the British and American forces. There was a long march past in threes, during which the tune "United States Marines" bit so deeply into my memory that I could not get it out of my head.

millions shed their blood or perished in the greatest of all human contentions some twenty years ago. Merciful oblivion draws its veils; the crippled limp away; the mourners fall back into the sad twilight of memory. New youth is here to claim its rights, and the perennial stream flows forward even in the battle zone, as if the tale were all a dream.

But injustice, arrogance, displayed in the hour of triumph, will never be forgotten or forgiven.

No one expected a renewal of war in the lifetime of the generation that had known its horror and its squalors.

Freud, one of the grand masters of narrative, knew that the past is not fixed in the way that linear time suggests. We can return. We can pick up what we dropped. We can mend what others broke. We can talk with the dead.