Quotes About Memory

I'm a lapsed altar boy.

I don't have Alzheimer's. I have part-timer's.

I think I'm getting a little bit of Alzheimer's. Just a little.

My mother had early-onset Alzheimer's, and it took her four years to die. She was only 44; I was 14.

Every time I go to the market, Andy says, 'Don't forget the Triscuits!'

Maybe everyone lives forever. Or maybe, like in the animated movie 'Coco,' only those whose stories get told by the living definitely do. It takes a story worth telling.

One day I was talking about what I was going to do next, and just found myself announcing it: 'I'm going to write a book about my father.'

I don't remember writing anything until I wrote my college application.

Sometimes a person has to be dead a while before people can appreciate what they did when they were alive.

I was in the army, and to me it was like a newsreel.

My first game for City was at Wembley against Arsenal and I have a bad memory about this game because we lost.

I certainly couldn't have written 'Angela's Ashes' when my mother was alive, because she would have been ashamed.

Life cannot go on without much forgetting!

Apropos of this, I asked my father one day whether it would be possible for me to see Mme. de Stael. My father, mother, and Alphonse all burst out laughing, and Alphonse said: "Where in the world has she sprung from?" To which my father replied: "What fools we are! She springs from the Carmelites." "My child, Mme. de Stael is dead," said my mother gently.

For all human sentiments there is a time of early blossoming, a day of generous enthusiasm that gradually fades until nothing is left of happiness but a memory, and glory is known for a delusion.

A justiça é uma abstração, representada por uma reunião de indivíduos a todo o momento substituídos, e cujas boas intenções, cuja memória são, como eles, extremamente ambulatórias. As

Existe en todos los sentimientos humanos una flor primitiva, engendrada por un noble entusiasmo, que va marchitándose poco a poco hasta que la felicidad no es ya sino un recuerdo, y la gloria una mentira.

El dolor dejó en el rostro de esta mujer un velo de tristeza. Esta nube no se disipó hasta la edad terrible en que la mujer comienza a añorar sus buenos tiempos pasados sin haberlos disfrutado, cuando ve marchitarse sus rosas y cuando los deseos del amor renacen con el ansia de prolongar las últimas sonrisas de la juventud.

Il est dans le caractère français de s'enthousiasmer, de se colérer, de se passionner pour le météore du moment, pour les bâtons flottants de l'actualité. Les êtres collectifs, les peuples, seraient-ils donc sans mémoire?

We are the earth, the land. The tongue that speaks and trips on the names of the dead as it dares to tell these stories of a woman's line. Her people and her dirt, her trees,

These are the incongruities of memory. It is hard to hold on to the entirety of something, but pieces may be held up to light.

Experiencing that intense emotion is what helps us, ultimately, accept that our mothers are gone.

My mother, as a woman in her sixties, is mostly a mystery to me. In my mind, she's an eternal forty-two, and as her daughter, I never get past seventeen. There

Strange, now, how after so many years my mother's model is starting to recede. Before I became a mother, I was a motherless daughter, and "motherless" always overshadowed "daughter" in that phrase. Now I'm a motherless mother, and "mother" is the word that carries most of the weight. Early loss influences me, daily, but it doesn't define me anymore.