Quotes About Memory

The living room, dining room, and kitchen proved to be a waste of time. Another phone sat in the kitchen with another empty memory. I was having what we in the trade called an unproductive morning. The

Vincent said, "You never answered my question." "What question was that?" "Down south. You think we faced off before?" "No." "How you know that for sure?" "You'd be dead." "That's funny. The boys told me the same thing about you." Pike

She said, "This isn't so bad." "Thanks. I think." The money vibe came off her like heat—the Rock & Republic jeans, the Kitson top, the Oliver Peoples shades. Cole was good at reading people, and had learned—over time—that he was almost always right. The trouble vibe came off her, too. She looked familiar, but Cole couldn't place her.

The first recollection started as a trickle that, as soon as I attempted to block it, found another path to weep through, the way water will always bleed through concrete, no matter how many times you patch it.

I dwell in a lonely house I know That vanished many a summer ago.

Nobody was ever meant to remember or invent what he did with every cent.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

A Late Walk - A Tree beside the wall stands bare, But a leaf that lingered brown, Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought, comes softly rattling down. I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower to carry again to you.

Though we choose greatly, still to lack The lasting memory at all clear, That life has for us on the wrack Nothing but what we somehow chose; Thus are we wholly stripped of pride In the pain that has but one close, Bearing it crushed and mystified.

You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day The war seemed over more for you than me, But now for me than you—the other way.

No memory of having starred Atones for later disregard Or keeps the end from being hard. Better to go down dignified With boughten friendship at your side Than none at all. Provide, provide!

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue 15 Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

the essence of life here, Though we choose greatly, still to lack The lasting memory at all clear, That life has for us on the wrack Nothing but what we somehow chose; Thus are we wholly stripped of pride In the pain that has but one close, Bearing it crushed and mystified.

It's just this: that there are places we all come from-deep-rooty-common places- that makes us who we are. And we disdain them or treat them lightly at our peril. We turn our backs on them at the risk of self-contempt. There is a sense in which we need to go home again-and can go home again. Not to recover home, no. But to sanctify memory.

Life is—and we are—byproducts of combustion. Imagination turned to form and finally, memory.

Only at some distance in time and place do you understand the significance of the crossing over—finding in the ritual retelling a way of sanctifying the memory.

For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi-god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.

We have seen that there are two misconceptions involved in the myth that memory is a thing. One is that memory is a thing (a tangible structure rather than an abstract process) and the other is that memory is a thing (one memory rather than many memories).

You cannot build a complete memory with a single memory tool any more than you can build a complete building with a single carpentry tool.

When a person asks how he can improve his memory, he cannot expect a useful answer until he makes his question more specific. What kind of material does he want to remember? In what way? [How will his memory be measured?] Under what circumstances? For how long? There are methods and principles in this book that apply to almost any kind of learning situation, but none applies to all situations

Sanity? Sorry, but I don't remember having such a useless thing in the first place.

Sembrava sempre barcollare in una sorta di stordimento, come se avesse perso qualcosa e non riuscisse a ricordare cosa né dove cercare.

FORTY YEARS AGO

Someone would cut his name into the face of a tombstone and it would be as if he never was.