Quotes About Memory

I knew that day that as long as I lived I would remember that my mother had cared more about how her child felt than any cherished antique, and I resolved that if I ever had any children I would remember that scene. I must never forget that a child's feelings are always more important than any possession.

He lived long enough to give the chaplain his name—John Goetchius—but died before he could tell the kind man where his home was.

I got up the nerve to ask her if she remembered that first visit and my terrible faux pas. She pretended, in true Japanese fashion, that it had never happened.

thought of that image as I was looking across the table at Max, at him looking back at me, old me, much older me: fifty-six. Max was born in 1906 and thus had always been—would always be—younger than I, by six years if I lied about my age, as I always did, or by seven if I was honest, which I was only in the privacy of my mind.

But not a day has slipped by these past hundred years that I haven't recollected my final flight. And now, on the eve of their centenary, here in the darkened museum—Sergeant Stubby asleep beside me, climate-controlled air sighing around us—those events replay behind these glass eyes that I can never close.

Perfume should tell a story – the story of who you are, who you might be, perhaps even of who you fear becoming…

You see, nothing is more immediate, more complete than the sense of smell. In an instant, it has the power to transport you. Your olfactory sense connects not to the memory itself, but to the emotion you felt when that memory was made. To recreate a scent memory is one of the most challenging, eloquent pursuits possible. It's poetry, in its most immediate form.

certain smells were the custodians of memory. And once they were unleashed, their effect was instantaneous, like switching on a light – flooding the senses far too quickly and completely. They had the power to transport and overwhelm. For that reason, one needed to be wary of them.

The world is defined by smells – not words or shapes or sounds. This is the language that makes sense, that everyone understands.

Hail to St. Aegolius Our Alma Mater. Hail, our song we raise in praise of thee Long in the memory of every loyal owl Thy splendid banner emblazoned be. Now to thy golden talons Homage we're bringing. Guiding symbol of our hopes and fears Hark to the cries of eternal praises ringing Long may we triumph in the coming years. - The Owls of St. Aegolius

For Twilight, it was like the echo of a song- a song from long ago. He could almost remember some of the words, but had no clue as to where they had come from. There had been a wonderful voice singing it, singing this song just for him. A voice like silk? Satin? Like liquid moonlight, it flowed, it curled around him and suffused him with a glowing warmth.

Death bears with it a stain that seeps into the hollow and fills the mind.

Soren had been given the number 82-85. He couldn't remember what his previous number had

Her family as well as others had been the recipient of prime cuts of venison that mysteriously appeared in their larders. She laughed at the memory of Fynn's face when she had caught him in her larder during a downpour when no one in their right mind would have been abroad.

And yet he could not stop thinking of them. He did not want to stop thinking of them. He would never stop thinking of them.

Complex structural dissociation involves an extensive range of phobias that exacerbate and maintain dissociation and impede functional adaptation. They include the phobia of (1) mental actions (i.e., an individual's inner experience of emotions, thoughts body sensations, needs, wishes); (2) dissociative parts of the personality; (3) attachment and attachment loss; (4) traumatic memory; and (5) change and healthy risk taking (van der Hart et al., 2006).

Everything that flickered could be made permanent. That was what drew him to photography, what made every painstaking step worth it: the permanence of the image. That was what fascinated him, the working against time...

Un dia, mientras escribia una carta, Otoko abrio el diccionario para consultar el ideograma 'pensar'. Al repasar los restantes significados (añorar, ser incapaz de olvidar, estar triste) sintio que el corazon se le encogia. Tuvo miedo de tocar el diccionario... Aun ahi estaba Oki. Innumerables palabras se lo recordaban. Vincular todo lo que veia y oia con su amor equivalia a estar viva. La conciencia de su propio cuerpo era inseparable del recuerdo de aquel abrazo.

He looked vague. "Did you? I don't remember." Tyler gave him one of the looks reserved especially for him, a combination of intense suspicion and total mistrust; Kane was, she knew, about as vague as a defense computer. And about as likely to raise the flag of surrender. He was up to something.

Conditions of thought, memory, and desire, persuaded by impulse and irrationality, are influenced as well by personal aesthetics and private meanings.

My thoughts were so fast that I couldn't remember the beginning of a sentence halfway through.

It was like going on an archaeological dig through earlier ages of one's mind. There was a bill from a taxidermist in The Plains, Virginia, for example, for a stuffed fox that I for some reason had felt I desperately needed.

My thinking, far from being clearer than a crystal, was tortuous. I would read the same passage over and over again only to realize that I had no memory at all for what I had just read. Each book or poem I picked up was the same way. Incomprehensible. Nothing made sense.

Even so, what I read often disappeared from my mind like snow on a hot pavement.