Quotes About Memory

Yes, Horus said. I remember this place. It's El Paso, I told him. Unless you went out for Mexican Food, you've never been here.

But not like this: not with the house just an afterimage, and my mom a spirit, and my dad...recycled. Carter Kane, Chapter 41

I feel like Jack up the beanstalk, I muttered. Sam laughed under her breath. Where do you think that story comes from? It's a cultural memory--a watered-down account of what happens when humans blunder into Jotunhiem. Super. THe sword buzzed in my hand. Besides, you can't be Jack. I'm Jack. I couldn't argue with that logic.

Next to her Percy coughed. This place smells like my ex-stepfather.

Leo," Jason said, "you're weird." "Yeah, you tell me that a lot." Leo grinned. "But if you don't remember me, that means I can reuse all my old jokes...!

When he told it, I remembered. He handed me my past like… like a spear. But I do not know if I should take it. Is it still mine, if I do not want it?

Leo tried to remember what had happened. He was pretty sure he had defeated Gaia…

The dead aren't scary, they're just sad.

I pictured my mom, alone in our little apartment on the Upper East Side. I tried to remember the smell of her blue waffles in the kitchen. It seemed so far away.

GO! Remember!

When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. Then like this television actress I used to have a crush on in fifth grade. Then…well, you get the idea.

I asked my new friend, "Were you born here?" He thought about it, paused, and then said, "No, 'twas 'bout five miles down the road." Later, I asked him, "Have you lived here all your life?" He winked and said, "Not yet.

Every time you try to block a thought out of your mind, you drive it deeper into your memory. By resisting it, you actually reinforce it.

do a typing and shorthand

Everyone she worked alongside in France had been insatiable letter-writers and resolute diary-keepers, but Gwendolen had felt no urge to chronicle, no desire for an aide-mémoire. Life was for absorbing, not recording. And in the end, it was all just paper that someone would have to dispose of after you were gone. Perhaps, after all, one's purpose in this world was to be forgotten, not remembered.

Survival trumped memory.

Everyone remembered Lord Lucan's name, but hardly anyone remembered Sandra Rivett, the nanny he clubbed to death. The wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like Gabrielle Mason and her children, also mostly forgotten by the collective memory. Who could name one of the Yorkshire Ripper's victims? Or the Wests'? The forgotten dead. Victims faded, murderers lived on in the memory, only the police kept the eternal flame alight, passing it on as the years went by.

Her mother was still more of a presence than an absence in her life. Juliet supposed that one day in the future it would be the other way round, but she doubted that would be an improvement.

Part of him died during the war. This was just the rest of him catching up," and she put her finger to the corner of her eye and dabbed at a trace of moisture there—a tear would have been too generous a description.

Some might count sheep. Teddy counted the towns and cities he had tried to destroy, that had tried to destroy him. Perhaps they had succeeded.

Once upon a time Jackson had erased his past, now his past had erased him.

Ursula found herself dwelling on Hugh's death, his absence more than his death.

he said that when the baby was born, if it was a boy, I was to call it Edward." "Edward?" Teddy repeated blankly. "After you." And for the first time in the whole of the war Teddy broke.

Much good may honour do them when they're dead