Quotes About Memory

Listening to it now is like a personally guided tour through my past.

As your life grows longer, and your memory gets fuller, The Beatles come with you, and mutate along the way. They define the extremes of your memory; they are with you when you are just discovering music, too young to know better, and they remain with you, on top of all the other heart noise crowding your chemistry, when you are supposedly too old for surprises.

And sometimes I think, man, all the people I get to hear this song with, we're going to miss each other when we die. When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.

When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other.

It's always that one song that gets to you. You can hide, but the song comes to find you.

The overwhelming sorrow of finding a cup of tea you forgot about.

You always remember the words that come back to bite you in the ass, no matter how much you'd like to forget them.

Clearly, the earl was a first-rate reporter, with an excellent memory. Dunraven accompanied

After the services, the many flower offerings sent in Cody's memory were taken to the headquarters of the Denver Flower Girls Association, where they were dismantled, so that each of the several thousand children in the grade schools of Denver could be given a souvenir flower.

Look through the reels of your memory and embrace them with gratitude.

Because beyond ensuring that a body has a name, dignity is one of the only things you can actually offer the dead.

A four year old girl was overheard whispering in her newborn baby brother's ear: "Baby," she whispers, "tell me what God sounds like. I'm starting to forget." -- Between the Dreaming and the Coming True

Norman Bates will never die...

Time is a figure eight, at its center the city of Déjà vu.

The brain forgets much, but the lower back remembers everything.

Conscience is less an inner voice than the memory of a mother's glance.

Stored away in some brain cell is the image of a long-departed aunt you haven't thought of in 30 years. Stored away in another cell is the image of a pink pony stitched on your first set of baby pajamas. All it takes to get that aunt mounted on the back of that pony is to eat a hunk of meatloaf immediately before going to bed.

What a snapshot is to your life, your life is to eternity, so wouldn't it be nice if eternity captured you smiling?

I wish to die knowing that I took a fleeting instant of eternity and fashioned from it a lifetime.

Perhaps we are given a mom that we might take into death the memory of a lullaby.

It's curious the way we get nostalgic for some hoped-for thing that never happened, as if something that never happened were in the past.

Art is not in the mind. Art is in the eye, in the ear, in the memory of our senses. Images, dreams.

When you die, your culture takes you in, and then, if you've given enough, your place is near the centre.

Dear dead women, with such hair, too—what's become of all the goldUsed to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.