Quotes About Memory

This is what a memorial is: standing still, staring at something that isn't ther

That word again. Happy. It's a curse. The pursuit of happiness makes us deeply unhappy. It's a trap.Before anything else happened, there was me in bed, thinking of who you used to be. I don't want you to think I forgot.

And I'm moved, it's so beautiful. Not what I wrote, but to have it given back like this. To have her remember the words and the tune. To hear it in her voice.

Let me hold on to this the way it was, before I knew anything else.

I never have people tell me their stories. I usually have to figure them out myself. Because I know that if people tell me stories, they will expect them to be remembered. And I cannot guarantee that. There is no way to know if the stories stay after I'm gone. And how devastating would it be to confide in someone and have the confidence disappear? I don't want to be responsible for that.

Gone is not forgotten, but our lives cannot be a memorial. This city cannot be a memorial. This city has to be a city. Our lives have to be our lives.

She is no longer a person in his life; instead, she is a person that other people will remind him of.

And I told you: I think of a photograph you took of me, up in Montreal. You told me to jump in the air, so in the picture, my feet are off the ground. Later, I asked you why you wanted me to do that, and you told me it was the only way to get me to forget about the expression on my face. You were right. I am completely unposed, completely genuine. In my mind's eye, I picture myself like that, reacting to you.

I couldn't remember ordinary moments, only the ones that had made an impression. Ordinary moments were the ones that fell away first.

I hope someday you will find me and remember what I once meant to you.

I was starting to think I was making up memories, just to have answers. Our brain does that sometimes. Or at least mine does.

How sad it must be for you to be nothing more than a hollow statue, to have your tomb preserved and your story forgotten.

This is what a memorial is: Standing still, staring at something that isn't there.

Now when I have to remember a date, all I have to do is consult my rap sheet.

I still have that drawing. Whenever I look at it, it makes me happy. That's the moral of the story. That's it.

I choose what to remember, and I am choosing Rhiannon. Again and again, I am choosing her, I am conjuring her, because to let go for an instant will allow her to disappear.

Fuck, I loved her then. And 'then' is blurring into 'now'. I'm thinking 'why not?' I'm thinking 'we're still the same people.

We are retracing the lines and windows that are no longer there. We are rebuilding from our memory, trying to do with our eyes open what we usually do with our eyes closed.

All this history...,' Danny says, then trails off. Lost in it. Feeling it connect. Realizing the weight of the world comes largely from its past.

In small letters, someone has written NEVER FORGET on one of the slats. I know it's supposed to be a pledge, but it feels like a curse. Don't we have to forget some of it? Don't we have to forget this feeling? If we don't, how will we live?

It was after sex, when there was still heat and mostly breathing, when there was still touch and mostly thought... it was as if the whole world could be reduced to the sound of a single string being played, and the only thing this sound could make me think of was you.

He was this constant, living reminder of my biggest mistake.

Fill your head with the right pictures of me. Fill your head with the ones you'd hang on the wall.

some things you don't need to hear in order to hear. The mind has an ear of its own and sometimes memory is the fiercest fucking DJ alive.