Quotes About Memory

If I could understand everything the way I do now, I could make it all--and then it just stopped. Leaving me with that feeling like when you figure out something brilliant and profound in a dream, but you wake up, and all you remember is that you knew this amazing thing, and now it's just out of reach.

They showed up right after you got there?" I asked. "Well, no, Erik and I smoked some weed first. I guess we were there for an hour or so." "Maybe an hour and a half," said Erik. "That long?" "It was good weed.

If a song is memory in some way, let's create a moment that you won't forget. There are lots of ways to do that

Sometimes it can take me a while to relearn my own songs, but I've gotten better over the years at keeping a record of the tunings I'm playing in and/or capo positions. But there are some songs from long ago that I've never been able to figure out. Songs that will never be finished

I think I would remember forgetting that.

I was alive, and from past experience I knew in time I would forget enough to again pretend that we could someday be free.

After reading the journal, I was left with the comfort of that essential recurring image of my husband putting out to sea in a boat he had rebuilt, out through the crashing surf to the calm just beyond. Of him following the coastline north, alone, seeking in that experience the joy of small moments remembered from happier days. It made me fiercely proud of him. It showed resolve. It showed bravery. It bound him to me in a more intimate way than we had ever seemed to have while together.

A creator who no longer remembered the creation: Wasn't that one definition of a god?

I am sure of the here and now, this moment, and the next. I am sure of my past." That was ghost bird's castle keep, and it was inviolate.

A theory was forming in his head, like a musical composition he could hum from vague memories but not quite yet name or play.

in death, he is not even the ghost he was in life.

La memoria es engañosa porque está coloreada por los acontecimientos de hoy.

You can tell about people by their absences. By the shape of the emptiness they leave behind.

The boy in war is, to an extent found in almost no other form of work, inextricably bound up with the men and materials of his labor. … He is a fragment of American earth wedged into an open hillside in Korea and reworked by its unbearable sun and rain. … He is a light brown vessel of red Australian blood that will soon be opened and emptied across the rocks and ridges of Gallipoli from which he can never again become distinguishable.

But he's here- right here, he challenged shrilly. Daddy, daddy, speak to me! It's David! Reaching out his hand, he gently touched his fathers face. He drew back then, at once, his eyes distended with terror. He isn't! He is- gone, he chattered frenziedly. This isn't the father-part that KNOWS. It's the other- that they leave. He's left it behind him- like the squirrel, and the water in the brook.

Estoy y estuve en muchos ojos. Yo solo soy memoria y la memoria que de mí se tenga.

Frente al espejo aprendió las palabras y las risas. Cuando se casó, Justino acaparó las palabras y los espejos y ella atravesó unos años silenciosos y borrados en los que se movía como una ciega, sin entender lo que sucedía a su alrededor. La única memoria que tenía de esos años era que no tenía ninguna. No había sido ella la que atravesó ese tiempo de temor y silencio.

En aquel entonces también las palabras me parecieron de piedra, solo que de piedra fluida y cristalina. La piedra se solidificaba al terminar cada palabra, para quedar escrita para siempre en el tiempo. ¿No eran así las palabras de tus mayores?

esto pasa desde que yo tengo memoria.

La gente deambulaba por la plaza, hechizada por el recuerdo olvidado de la fiesta; de ese olvido provenía la tristeza de esos días. "Algún día recordaremos, recordaremos

La única memoria que tenía de esos años era que no tenía ninguna.

los hombres que pasen por aquí no tengan ni memoria de que fui Ixtepec.

Si moría esa noche, sólo ella sabría el horror de su muerte y el horror de su vida frente al asesino que la acechaba desde el rincón más remoto de su memoria.

Hay días como hoy, en los que recordarme me da pena.