Quotes About Memory

When we think back on our past sensations and feelings, our thought is a faithful mirror that copies its objects truly; but it does so in colours that are fainter and more washed-out than those in which our original perceptions were clothed.

All beliefs about matters of fact or real existence are derived merely from something that is present to the memory or senses, and a customary association of that with some other thing.

Secondly, we have several instances of habits, which may be revived by one single word; as when a person, who has by rote any periods of a discourse, or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of the whole, which he is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or expression, with which they begin.

Nada cierto podemos afirmar del mundo objetivo y del sujeto que lo mira, salvo que uno y otro son haces de percepciones instantáneas e inconexas ligadas por la memoria y la imaginación.

He made not even the briefest mention, indeed no mention at all, of the Nazis' extermination of Europe's Jews.

There is no past, memory paints it,' Ã¢â'¬Â the pope recited. " Ã¢â'¬ËœThere is no future, for hope shapes it. There is only the present, but it is always escaping us.

He liked to collect rocks. That day, he had gathered one from near the path down Longevity Hill toward the water. It was a fine-grained piece of granite that he found under a mulberry tree. He took it from his pocket now and, as was his practice, he inscribed the time and place he had found it, in tiny characters, on the rock. He would add it to his collection, hundreds of stones neatly aligned on his shelves at home, so that he could remember

The palest ink is better than the best memory.

As we are accustomed to acknowledging what we cannot see, the idea of God seems less strange. Nonphysical things are real; they are the stuff of life. Our lives pivot on real things that are non-material: ideas, emotions, imagination, memory, relationships, intuition, suffering, joy, and faith. To believe only in what you can see seems a peculiar form of blindness.

You still can't see it and it's right in front of your eyes. It's the reason we're gathered here. The only reason we're here is because of the ones we loved. That the line that held us.

When someone dies, the relationship doesn't die with them.

Ultimately, meaning comes through finding a way to sustain your love for the person after their death while you're moving forward with your life. That

life ends, but love is eternal.

Death, becoming obsolete, and trying to make a mark before leaving the world were all themes he returned to repeatedly

The blossoms fall just once each winter, yet in our memories, they fall every day.

The edge of the speed envelope should be dictated by the view ahead, not by memory or prediction. As the view expands, speed can increase. But when the view contracts, immediately reduce speed so that you can always come to a complete stop within the roadway you can see ahead. The more you must predict what the road is doing beyond your view, the greater the risk.

Facebook, with its flow of useless particularity, makes it impossible to forget, thus impossible to remember.

replaced by a detail posted on a Web page, which may be more accurate but is probably less true. Gone is the friend you knew from home. Gone is the sled and the lake and the winter. Gone are the stories that existed in the gap between imagining and knowing and, with them, the distance that turned the particular into the universal and the mundane into the romantic.

how the sensational always sticks in the mind and stands out at the expense of the ordinary, which – maybe precisely because it is so ordinary – tells us something more significant about the real world.

Kim Peek, for example, who was the basis for Rain Man, was severely mentally handicapped and could not get dressed by himself. Yet he had memorized twelve thousand books and could give a lightning-quick answer to almost any factual question.

They were good parents. The worst thing they ever did to us was die.

Gli argini della memoria» aveva detto Joseph. Che espressione misteriosa, come se la memoria fosse un fiume. Ed era così che Tushi vedeva Joseph adesso: in riva a un fiume, con i pantaloni arrotolati sopra le caviglie e le lunghe gambe che sguazzavano nell'acqua mentre si chinava a setacciare il limo, la sabbia e il fango che erano la sua storia. Cosa avrebbe dragato prima dell'alba? Qualcosa che l'avrebbe aiutato? Tushi lo sperava, ma non ne era sicura. 

It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.

I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.