Quotes About Memory

To zabawne, ?e próbuj?c upora? si? z czasem, zazwyczaj wracamy do minionego, do tego, co ukszta?towane, do gotowej formy. Wyobra?nia nie potrafi niczego wymy?li?. Zawieszona w pró?ni spada jak kamie? albo zajmuje si? sob?, co koniec ko?ców wychodzi na jedno.

Widz? przesz?o?? wyra?niej ni? tera?niejszo??. Przecie? to, co jest nabiera sensu dopiero, gdy minie.

With events that have passed there is no problem, provided we don't attempt to be wiser that they are, provided we can't use them to further own own ends. If we let them be, the turn into a marvelous solution, a magical acid that dissolves time and space, eats calendars and atlases, and turns the coordinates of action into sweet nothingness. What is the meaning of the riddle? What is the use to anyone of chronology, sister of death?

Un voyage du pays du roi Ubu au pays du vampire Dracula ne peut pas renfermer de souvenirs auxquels on puisse croire plus tard, comment on croit, par exemple, à l'existence de Paris, de Stonehenge ou de la place Saint-Marc. (p. 22)

What is memory, anyway, if not for the endless exchange of currency, a continual allowing and distributing, a counting in the hope that the total will be right, that what once was will return with no shortage, whole, untouched, and perhaps even with interest, through love and longing?

than thirty years that I haven't thought of Jones. More specifically, I don't believe a

the past is what actually happened. History is merely what someone wrote.

An elementary school student in South Carolina stumped him with a gotcha question even more challenging than Hiller's about the president of Chechnya: What was his favorite book as a child? "I can't remember any specific books," he said. Later, responding to a similar query in a written questionnaire, he summoned an answer: The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Though that book might have been his favorite, it was published a year after he graduated from Yale.

Elephants and grandchildren never forget.

Most of us end up with no more than five or six people who remember us. Teachers have thousands of people who remember them for the rest of their lives.

Every song has a memory; every song has the ability to make or break your heart, shut down the heart, and open the eyes. But I'm afraid if you look at a thing long enough; it loses all of its meaning

A picture means I know where I was every minute. That's why I take pictures. It's a visual diary.

La memoria es frágil y eso es una bendición, el tiempo va perdiendo todo en sus espejos.

Podían haberlo olvidado, solo que él no permitió que lo olvidaran.

Turning death and destruction to new ways of seeing and being is the best offering we can make to those we have lost.

Memory is the grid of meaning we impose on the random and bewildering flux of the world. Memory is the line we pay out behind us as we travel through time--it is the clue, like Ariadne's, which means we do not lose our way. Memory is the lasso with which we capture the past and haul it from chaos towards us in nicely ordered sequences, like those of baroque keyboard music.

I can no longer tell the difference between memory and dream. They share the same quality of wishful thinking.

The lilies i always associate with him; that are white. And stain you.

a great future behind him, already

Consider the nature of a city. It is a vast repository of time.

Palyaço maskesinin alt?nda yatan o yüz, uzun y?llar önce tan???p sevilmiÅŸ, sonra da kaybedilmiÅŸ, ÅŸimdi de yeniden bulunmuÅŸ bir sevgilinin yüzü. Onunla daha önce hç kar??laÅŸmam?? olmama, bana tümüyle yabanc? bir yüz olmas?na kar??n, görüp tan?mamdan bile önce vurgun olduÄŸum bir yüz bu. [sf 288]

He had become the sign of an idea of a hero; and she herself had been forced to impersonate the sign of a memory of a bride.

There was a house we all had in common and it was called the past, even though we'd lived in different rooms.

There are some names that one can't even say in a normal voice because they lay open some nerve. I was frightfully in love with a woman once. Her name was Susan and she came from Norwich and she lived with her husband in Ovington Square. I fell out of love with her, and I haven't seen her or heard of her for years, but if I read or hear the words Susan, or Norwich, or Ovington, I go all queer.