Quotes About Memory

This is important to writing. . . that is, it is important to my own writing. This. . . is landscape! Mine. This dirt came from the prairie where I was a child. I played in it, dug in it, planted in it, and walked over it. It is where I began. And all my writing begins with a landscape such as this. A place.

Trying to remember, I have learned , is like trying to clutch a handful of fog. Trying to forget, like trying to hold back the mons

Trying to remember, I have learned, is like trying to clutch a handful of fog. Trying to forget, like trying to hold back the monsoon.

We are all wrong at some times and to some degree. A person who claims never to have been wrong is simply a person with a very convenient memory.

She wondered where things went to when you forgot them. Perhaps it meant that her memory was not gone but was merely sleeping. Perhaps it would come again suddenly and she would remember all those things which she had forgotten.

Is this for someone special?" asked the saleslady as she folded my purchase in layers of tissue paper. "For my mama," I said proudly. "She dead.

Lo que más odio de escribir en la era digital es que todo acaba por desaparecer. Es como escribir cartas que se evaporan en el aire después de que uno las lea. Por eso hago copias. El papel dura siempre.

I worry sometimes that we're apt to confuse forgiveness with forgetfulness. The potency of forgiveness comes precisely from the fact that it must be done while being goaded by an unhappy memory.

Might-have-beens are insidious, aren't they, in the way they don't ever quite lie still or go away.

Death is not the opposite of life but of birth - life is a continuous realm out of which we are born; that (as Plato says) we can dimly remember during our existence; and to which we return when we die - to that totality of life compared to which mortal existence seems but a dreamlike fragment.

death is the enemy; indeed, it is the "last enemy," says 1 Corinthians 15:26. When the psalmist, then, prays for deliverance from death, he is talking about a great deal more than a physical phenomenon. Death is the "last enemy," the physical symbol of our sinful alienation from God: "For in death there is no memory of You; in the grave, who will give You thanks?" Sin

I forgot why throwing away a thousand boomerangs at once was a bad idea. Then it all came back to me.

He will hardly remember that life happened to him.

continuing. "You're not going to believe this, but it was me. I'm the officer that stopped him that night. I remember shining my flashlight on those garbage bags. I just can't believe

David Eagleman once wrote that everyone dies twice – first when we stop breathing, and second when your name is mentioned for the last time.

It's like your shadow; you just can't shake it, it's always with you, and it's easy to forget about.

Tu as encore quelque chose à me dire ? lui demande-t-elle d'une voix neutre. Non, reconnaît-il, avec l'impression d'entendre ce petit déclic qui signale que le présent vient de se changer en passé.

At school some learning by heart was compulsory, though not irksome. But this intake was out-distanced many times, as it always is among people who need poetry, by a private anthology, both of those automatically absorbed and of poems consciously chosen and memorized as though one were stocking up for a desert island or for a stretch of solitary.

Trivial things light fuses in the memory.

When I was a young lad twenty or thirty or forty years ago I lived in a town where they were all after me on account of what I done on Mrs Nugent.

Je crois qu'on entend encore dans les entrées d'immeubles l'écho des pas de ceux qui avaient l'habitude de les traverser et qui, depuis, ont disparu. Quelque chose continue de vibrer après leur passage, des ondes de plus en plus faibles, mais que l'on capte si l'on est attentif.

You were right to tell me that in life it is not the future which counts, but the past.

Many years afterwards, we attempt to solve puzzles that were not mysteries at the time and we try to decipher half-obliterated letters from a language that is too old and whose alphabet we don't even know.

In the end, we forget the details of our lives that embarrass us or are too painful. We just lie back and allow ourselves to float along calmly over the deep waters, with our eyes closed.