Quotes About Memory

Remembering Faye and the network's other victims had been a top priority for Fourcade since the end of the war. On November 23, 1945, a solemn requiem mass in their honor had been said at Sacré Coeur Basilica in Paris, attended by hundreds of French and British mourners.

and one who has not lived through it could never believe what happened.

Erik Hazelhoff Roelfzema noted that "through the entire war, one dream never left us, not for single day : our homecoming to Holland as we remembered it. We did come home, but the memory was crushed by reality and the dream exploded. Our country lay before us unrecognizable, emaciated like a wretch from a concentration camp. We couldn't cope....

If the ending is messy, one doesn't remember anything good about any of it.

If'n Ya Wanna Go Back

But if the words struck her only lightly when she was nine, they stayed with her, gaining in density, to insinuate themselves whenever her performance fell short of perfection. They were less a mortification, she feared, than an actual statement of fact: B+ is all you deserve.

Once history holds your hand, it never lets go. But it has an anxious grip and takes you places you couldn't expect.

It's almost a mission for some people - to forget.

When we have the same thought again, the line of the original thought is deepened, causing what's called a memory trace. With each repetition the trace goes deeper and deeper, forming and embedding a pattern of thought. When an emotion is tied to this thought pattern, the memory trace grows exponentially stronger.

I don't remember a single classroom lesson she taught, but I very clearly remember the way she made me feel.

forget simple things like where we put our car keys or that one crucial ingredient for dinner when we run into the grocery store. But even more disturbing, we forget God. We say with our mouths that we are trusting and relying on God, but are we really? A quick check to see

For the memory of love is sweet, though the love itself were in vain. And what I have lost of pleasure, assuage what I find of pain.

Music, once admitted to the soul becomes ... a sort of spirit, and never dies. It wanders perturbedly through the halls and galleries of the memory.

She had been a widow considerably longer than she had been a wife, and her relationship with her departed husband was as good as ever and was even improving with the years.

Out in the palace gardens, groundskeepers buried statues in the dirt. As Justice and Peace were entombed together, a workman wrote on one flank "We'll come back for you." The grave was covered with leaves to conceal it. - Symphony for the City of the Dead: Dmitri Shostakovich and the Siege of Leningrad

Happiness and beauty are the worst things you can have in a life, because you never forget them. They go on and on ambushing you, presumably until you die.

When I was little, she thought, I wanted nothing except to stop travelling. I wanted time for each new thing, each new feeling, to be held properly in suspension until it could be joined by the next. Given the chance I could easily hold all those beautiful things together. I could be like a box in which they would be held new forever. Instead, everything aged and changed. People too.

Multics gave living proof that a grown-up operating system was possible—that sophisticated memory management, a hierarchical file system, careful attention to security, and all the rest could be integrated into a single, coherent whole.

I heard one cry in the night, and I heard one laugh afterwards. If I cannot forget that, I shall not be able to sleep again.

Life is what you remember, Nan thinks as she shoves dirt into the old sneaker. Who can remember everything? Well, no one, and that's a blessing. Life is and always has been a composition, much like this garden; it will not be contained and cannot be determined.

No amount of photography could replace the memories of a life lived, of lives observed and known, of lives elaborated in the mind and on the page.

The soul can recall what the mind forgets.

But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

We are often reminded that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and I believe deeply in the truth of that sentiment. Few things are as vital as remembering and passing on history to future generations.