Quotes About Memory

Locksley? It was. The fall of pale hair, the set of wide shoulders, the posture of his body. Unmistakable. She knew him instantly. And knew, without knowing why, that she would always know him.

Every single evening, for over fifty years, Sylvia has said Kaddish—the prayer for the dead. She prays for her little friends Hava and Itka. Then she prays for all the others—uncles, cousins, neighbors, and strangers—who perished in the war. Their voices were silenced years ago. Now Sylvia has spoken up to remember them, and to share her memories so that we will never forget.

After she packed her few bags into the back of her car and hugged him, Rosalind never saw him again. After a few weeks it was like she'd never known him at all, like summer friendships she'd strike up as a child when the family stayed a few weeks at the beach or another city. The friendship was site specific. She couldn't miss it any more than she'd miss the Eiffel Tower in her backyard. It was where it belonged, somewhere in the past.

Can you give to someone else what has been? That's the task of the poet.

What then of all the plot in between I have honestly forgotten? I feel a nausea of panic that I will die soon.

Our drive to keep and preserve seems to have achieved only the obliteration of self and memory.

With dreaming, we speak differently. We use the past tense. Dreams are about the past, but we want them to be about the present, the future. That is, we will make them mean something.

This bread has been anointed by God, I said to myself. He wants me to have it.... All I know is, when I am old, gray and bedbound and everything else has gone, I will still remember how good it tasted.

This here is your inheritance, says the senior partner. Yes, he says, Ludwig, I know, and stows the plan for the bathing house (5.5m long, 3.8m wide, outer wall construction: wood, roof construction: thatch), stows both the plan and the mosquito in his briefcase. On a German shelf, this mosquito, pressed flat between large quantities of paper, will outlast time and times, and one day it might even be petrified, who knows.

But just because you bury something, that doesn't mean it stops existing.

I stared at him. Did he really say that? Did he remember? The way he looked back at me, one eyebrow raised, I knew he did. And this time, I was the one to look away. Because I remembered. I remembered everything.

One day all of this will be proof, proof that we were here, proof that we loved each other. It's the guarantee that no matter what happens to us in the future, this time was ours. When

He made it so hard not to love him. When he was sweet like this, I remembered why I did. Used to love him, I mean. I remembered everything.

And in the end, he would become a memory, pressed in my heart like a leaf in my book.

I could fall in love with you so easily. I'm halfway there already. You're so perfect in my memory, and you're perfect now. It's like I dreamed you into being. Of all the boys, you're the one I would pick.

Peter. Peter Kavinsky." Even saying his name is a remembered pleasure, something to savor, like a piece of chocolate dissolving on my tongue.

Remember that summer you liked that girl who worked at the boardwalk? Angie?" "No," he said, but I knew he was lying. "What about her?" "Did you ever hook up with her?" Conrad finally lifted his head up from the couch. "No," he said. "I don't believe you." "I tried, once. But she socked me in the head and said she wasn't that kind of girl.I think she was a Jehovah's Witness or something.

A memory, pressed into my heart like a leaf in a book.

Years from now this will be what I remember when I remember my spring break senior year. It will be this moment right here. The smell of chlorine on his skin. The way the sun dips slow into the water before it disappears. The first time I ever told a boy I loved him.

The brief walk--from the screened-in porch outside to the Hearse--was one of those moments he knew he'd remember and look back on, one of those moments that he'd try to capture in the stories he told. Nothing was happening, really, but the moment was thick with mattering.

I wished I could stay forever, in this moment. Like in one of those plastic snowballs, one little moment frozen in time.

This is our story.

Lara Jean, why do you have to remember every little thing? It's not healthy.

Maybe I wasn't worth remembering.