Quotes About Memory

I have stood upon Achilles' tomb and heard Troy doubted, Time will doubt of Rome

What are the hopes of man? Old Egypt's King Cheops erected the first pyramid And largest, thinking it was just the thing To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid; But somebody or other rummaging, Burglariously broke his coffin's lid: Let not a monument give you or me hopes, Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.

An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult.

Remember thee! remember thee! Till Lethe quench life's burning stream Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, And haunt thee like a feverish dream! Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not. Thy husband too shall think of thee: By neither shalt thou be forgot, Thou false to him, thou fiend to me!

It's good to remember where you've been.

The iron did not remember the blood it had once moved within, the phosphorous had forgot the savage brain.

I once saw, on a flower pot in my own living room, the efforts of a field mouse to build a remembered field. I have lived to see this episode repeated in a thousand guises, and since I have spent a large portion of my life in the shade of a nonexistent tree I think I am entitled to speak for the field mouse.

The best way to be resurrected is to be forgotten.

I one saw, on a flowerpot in my own living room, the efforts of a field mouse to rebuild a remembered field. I have lived to see this episode repeated in a thousand guises, and since i have spent a large portion of my life in the shade of a non-existent tree, i think i am entitled to speak for the field mouse. (As quoted by Richard Powers in The Echo Maker)

I am the only one who can speak for them, and for the children we were.

what we remember depends upon what we believe—the human mind is not an objective recorder of information . . ." ~ MJ Brogan, Sins Not Forgotten

They can believe they've overcome or effectively compartmentalized negative events, but traumatic memory—it can become locked into the body.

I'd like to go over again, in detail, what happened after the group left the lodge." Another memory flash. The sound of gunshots. A body swinging by the neck. Screams—such terrible screams . . .

Memories defined a person. Without autobiographical memory, the face in the mirror was a stranger's. One became an alien, flailing around in a constant, unrelenting present with no touchstones to guide one into the future and out of the past.

the human mind is not an objective recorder of information . . .

He'd forget all that, just as he would forget this night. The memories would linger for a time, but they'd grow dull. The ache he felt now, the frustation and anger and sorrow - all those would fade too. She'd given him a night to remember, but of course he'd forget.

Do you remember little Zoe Octavia Lexham?' he said. His aunt cast her pale blue gaze in the direction of the great chandelier, as though that was where she kept her memory. 'Zoe Octavia,' she said.

A Lemon Gingertini," the dark-haired girl says. She curls her hands neatly under her chin and watches me mix the ginger syrup. "Oh, could you go light on the ice, too?" "Sure thing," I say. Damn. I can't place her face. "And make sure to add a slice of 'I'll kick your ass myself if you ever f*** over my best friend again'?" Her sweet voice changes to venom-laced.

the goal is to integrate the loss into your life and create an ongoing connection with the person who died while also finding a way to continue living.

I want some sign of the scar tissue left behind. I want to know, in the end, that I mattered.

far better that [a patient make progress but] forget what we talked about than the opposite possibility (a more popular choice for patients)—to remember precisely what was talked about but to remain unchanged.

no memory, no desire.

Everything has to be reconsidered, shaped anew. Autobiographical fiction, even if it is inspired by reality, by memory, requires a rigorous selection, a merciless cutting. One writes with the pen, but in the end, to create the right form, one has to use, like Matisse, a good pair of scissors.

She is the keeper of all these names and numbers now, numbers she once knew by heart, numbers and addresses her children no longer remember.