Quotes About Memory

Memory was my drug of choice. -Pea Hicks

A four-year-old has so little past, and he remembers almost none of it, neither the father he once had nor the house where he once lived. But he can feel the absences – and feel them as sensation, like a texture that was once at his fingers every day but now is gone and no matter how he gropes or reaches his hand he cannot touch what's no longer there.

My mother feared for my soul, a phrase that sounds to me now comically overblown, yet I remember that those were precisely the words she used.

Now no sign, no scorch or char, marks the place where George built the fire. Remarkable, earth's strength to restore itself and erase human effort. But memory, stronger still, can send flames as high as the roof, and shift the wind and choke George and sting his eyes with smoke...

Så egendomligt overklig denna våning redan hade blivit! Det var inte en våning där någon bodde, utan en bild av en våning där någon hade bott. Precis som Goethehuset i Weimar eller August Strindbergs arbetsrum på Drottninggatan. En våning kunde bli en bild av sig själv när den inte längre var befolkad. Den var densamma som förut. Men den hade stelnat till bild.

We do not disappear without a trace. We leave a wake that never quite disappears, a gash in time that we so laboriously leave behind us.

But men can forget. If too much time goes by, they can forget what they have. How much they want what they have.

We only really remember things for five years. After that, what we remember, what's actually etched in our brain is our memory of the thing, not the thing itself. And five years after that, what's left is our memory of the memory.

every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

That's the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again. And you see it with a stark quality: This is what is required of you now, just to get along.

This is the terrible thing about a tragedy. It isn't with you every minute. You forget it, and then you remember it again.

I'd remember Matt, and I'd remember him wrong. And that was probably when I'd miss him most.

She thinks it has something to do with one of her clearest memories of her mother—the two of them sitting on Maggie's bed, early one Saturday morning, eating ginger pancakes and drinking unsweetened iced tea. Listening to the radio. She can still call it up whenever she eats the pancakes. Not just the memory. But the feeling, as if it is happening right now.

We only really remember things for five years. After that, what we remember, what's actually etched in our brain, is our memory of the thing, not the thing itself. And five years after that, what's left is our memory of the memory. You follow me?

him," he says. "Though I remember him having longer hair. And being much heavier. He looks quite different." "But not entirely?

Part of it is that I recognize in her that thing that happens when you lose your mother. My mother left by choice, Bailey's by tragedy, but it leaves a similar imprint on you either way. It leaves you in the same strange place, trying to figure out how to navigate the world without the most important person watching.

Todo se olvida en esta vida, todo pasa al recuerdo, todo acontecimiento deja de ser presente, pierde su valor y su significado.

One is never truly alone, even when our only company is our thoughts, because what are thoughts if not the memory of interactions with others?

Words have life, memory, when you hear them you travel to the past

La memoria», le dijo «es ver desde dentro. Es dar forma y color a las palabras. Sin imágenes no hay memoria».

Eso es finalmente lo que vale, que alguien perdure en la memoria gracias al poder transformador de sus palabras. Por cierto, las que contenían mi mensaje eran éstas: Querida Chipi-Chipi, la muerte no existe, pero la vida, como tú la conoces, es maravillosa ¡aprovéchala! Te quiere por siempre. Tu papá.

They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.

She thought to herself, "This is now." She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the fire-light and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.