Quotes About Memory

In the modern world, the meaning of the dead to the defeated is a bitter, unhealed wound, where defeat rarely means obliteration of the people and the civilization. As we recently witnessed in the Persian Gulf War, defeat may not even bring the fall of the opposing government. At the level of grand strategy in Vietnam, the United States had been defeated, and yet American soldiers had won every battle. For the veterans, the unanchored dead continue to hover.

My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, ancient and modern, being always provided with a good number of books; and when I was ashore, in observing the manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning their language; wherein I had a great facility, by the strength of my memory.

My hours of leisure I spent in reading the best authors, ancient and modern, being always provided with a good number of books; and when I was ashore, in observing the manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning their language; wherein I had a great facility, by the strength of my memory. The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate

Estoy harta del tiempo, dijo, lo que trae se lo lleva sin misericordia. Trae el amor, lo gasta y se lo lleva. Se lleva la memoria, los recuerdos, se va con tus fuerzas. También trae el dolor y, si se aguanta, queda una herida con la que toca vivir hasta que el maldito tiempo decida llevárselo a uno. Y no por las buenas, sino que nos deja alguna enfermedad para que conozcamos la eternidad antes de irnos.

No sabemos lo larga que es nuestra historia pero sentimos su peso.

There are those who seek the love of a woman to forget her, to not think about her.

Of all man's instruments, the most wondrous, no doubt, is the book. The other instruments are extensions of his body. The microscope, the telescope, are extensions of his sight; the telephone is the extension of his voice; then we have the plow and the sword, extensions of the arm. But the book is something else altogether: the book is an extension of memory and imagination.

What man of us has never felt, walking through the twilight or writing down a date from his past, that he has lost something infinite?

Man's memory shapes Its own Eden within

The task of art is to transform what is continuously happening to us, to transform all of these things into symbols, into music, into something which can last in man's memory. That is our duty. If we don't fulfill it, we feel unhappy.

The years go by, and I've told the story so many times that I'm not sure anymore whether I actually remember it or whether I just remember the words I tell it with.

We are our memory, we are that chimerical museum of shifting shapes, that pile of broken mirrors.

Thus my life is a flight and I lose everything and everything belongs to oblivion, or to him.

Another school declares that all time has already transpired and that our life is only the crepuscular and no doubt falsified and mutilated memory or reflection of an irrecoverable process.

When a writer dies, he becomes his books.

As the end approaches, there are no longer any images from memory - there are only words.

We forget that we are all dead men conversing with dead men.

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world? The voice of Macedonio Fernandez, the image of a bay horse in a vacant lot on the corner of Sarrano and Charcas, a bar of sulfur in the drawer of a mahogany desk?

Things became duplicated in Tlön; they also tend to become effaced and lose their details when they are forgotten. A classic example is the doorway which survived so long as it was visited by a beggar and disappeared at his death. At times some birds, a horse, have saved the ruins of an amphitheater.

My memory, sir, is like a garbage disposal.

The truth is that we all live by leaving behind; no doubt we all profoundly know that we are immortal and that sooner or later every man will do all things and know everything.

I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does.

I can't talk about my books. I have written them and tried to forget them. I have written once, and readers have read me many times, no? I try to think of what I wrote, it's very unhealthy to think about the past, the case of elegies is very sad, as much as the case of complaints.

Una vez, tu finado padre nos dijo que no se puede medir el tiempo por días, como el dinero por centavos o pesos, porque los pesos son iguales y cada día es distinto y tal vez cada hora. No comprendí muy bien lo que decía, pero me quedó grabada la frase.