Quotes About Memory

I did what I liked. If you had asked me, I would have said I was happy. Yet I always remembered.

But all I felt was the coolness against my ankle, where his fingers had been a moment before.

Hands, smooth and strong, reaching to touch me. I know those hands.

The space beside me on the bed was empty, but the pillow still held the shape of him, and the sheets smelled of us both.

I loved this about him. No matter how many times I asked, he answered me as if it were the first time.

Grabé su rostro en mi mente, como se graban los sellos sobre la cera, para poder llevarlo siempre conmigo».

And then I remembered, he will never be old.

Las voces de los muertos tienen el poder de enloquecer a los vivos.

not when I stood in his blood.

Later, I almost convinced myself it had not happened, that it had been a vivid dream, drawn from his descriptions and too much imagination. But that is not the truth.

This is Lord Diomedes, King of Argos," Lycomedes said. "A comrade of Odysseus." And another suitor of Helen's, though I remembered no more than his name.

He would be hated now. No one would remember his glory, or his honesty, or his beauty; all his gold would be turned to ashes and ruin.

coloro che erano morti avrebbero continuato a vivere almeno nel ricordo

There are too many of them. It's simpler if they just remember me.

Give us both peace. Burn me and bury me. I will wait for you among the shades.

Es correcto buscar la paz para los muertos. Tú y yo sabemos bien que no la hay para quienes sobreviven.

There are too many of them,' he said. 'It's simpler if they just remember me.

L'ultima cosa che penso è: Achille.

THE GREATER THE MONUMENT, the greater the man. The stone the Greeks quarry for his grave is huge and white, stretching up to the sky. ACHILLES, it reads. It will stand for him, and speak to all who pass: he lived and died, and lives again in memory.

Achille fa scattare la mano per agguantare la spada e tagliarsi la gola. È solo quando la solleva vuota che ricorda: ha dato la spada a me.

Its burst of grainy sweetness filled my mouth; the skin was downy on my tongue. I had loved figs, once.

But the ache for him is stronger than my anger. I want to speak of something not dead or divine. I want him to live.

Some men gain glory after they die, while others fade. What is admired in one generation is abhorred in another." He spread his broad hands. "We cannot say who will survive the holocaust of memory.

La culpa me inmovilizaba en la cama como si se tratara de un ancla. Solo me hizo mover el recuerdo hiriente de Quirón. «No renuncies a las cosas con tanta facilidad como hiciste una vez».