Quotes About Memory

if you think about one memory for most of a day, is that not your present? Some people live in the now; some people prefer to reside in the past—either choice is valid.

I feel like I should be over it by now," he says. "Everyone else has forgotten about the flight. Mostly, anyway. But I feel like I still think about it all the time." ... "What happened is baked into your bones, Edward. It lives under your skin. It's not going away. It's part of you and will be part of you every moment until you die. What you've been working on, since the first time I met you, is learning to live with that.

The child inside Julia lay wide-eyed in the dark, knowing that she was Jo, but only because Sylvie was Beth.

The past is the same as the present to her, as precious and as close at hand. After all, if you think about one memory for most of a day, is that not your present? Some people live in the now; some people prefer to reside in the past—either choice is valid.

He knows the loss of Jordan will remain with him forever, even as Edward slowly leaves his parents behind. He was supposed to grow up and leave his mom and dad, after all, just like he will leave John and Lacey in the fall when he goes to college. That is part of the natural order. Edward wasn't supposed to leave Jordan, though. They were meant to age together. That loss continues to be spiked with pain; it will never be soothed.

The two boys lead the way down the hall. There are windows in this corridor, and the skyscrapers of New York City are visible in the distance—man-made mountains of steel and glass piercing a blue sky. Jane and Bruce can't help but locate the spot where the Twin Towers used to be, the same way the tongue finds the hole where a tooth was pulled. Their sons, who were both toddlers when the towers fell, accept the skyline as it is.

Then he bites an O in half and wills himself to remember nothing, think nothing, until all that exists is a flatness - a flatness he now identifies as himself.

for a person is so profound that it's part of who you are, then the absence of the person becomes part of your DNA, your bones,

She was Julia's wild hair, she was the lake her husband had once been carried out of, and no matter what happened next, she was love.

The past gets carried with us. It's always there.

Emily gazed long on the splendours of the world she was quitting, of which the whole magnificence seemed thus given to her sight only to increase her regret on leaving it; for her, Valancourt alone was in that world; to him alone her heart turned, and for him alone fell her bitter tears.

You see, Novelka, in an odd sort of way, some of our strongest relationships are with people who have died. We miss the person, we think of them, we wonder what they would want us to do, how they would want us to act. Though they are not here, they still strongly influence our lives. And so we go on loving them, sometimes even more, when they are gone.

If Gran, Da, and Gil were alive, they were alive inside her: when Da told her how to scythe, when Gran praised her for gathering herbs, when Gil said, "I like beginnings.

Sentirai il tuono e mi rammenterai, penserai: desiderava la bufera... Sarà una striscia di cielo accesa di rosso, e il cuore come allora in fiamme. E ciò accadrà nel giorno moscovita in cui abbandonerò per sempre la città, muoverò verso il bramato riparo, lasciando in mezzo a voi ancora la mia ombra.

Maa, vaikkei kotimaani olekaan / on muistoissani katoamaton / ja merikin niin hellän-jäinen, / sen vesi miltei suolaton

I should be proud to have my memory graced,but only if the monument be placed…here, where I endured three hundred hoursin line before the implacable iron bars.

That was a time when only the deadcould smile.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: "she wanted storms.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire. That day in Moscow, it will all come true, when, for the last time, I take my leave, And hasten to the heights that I have longed for, Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem too insignificant for our concern? Yet in my heart I never will deny her, who suffered death because she chose to turn. - Lot's Wife

But I am not allowed to forget The taste of the tears of yesterday.

And if I die, then who Will write my poems to you?

Let love be the gravestone Lying on my life.

I don't know if you're alive or dead. Can you on earth be sought, or only when the sunsets fade be mourned secretly in my thought? All is for you: the daily prayer, the sleepless heat at night, and of my verses, the white flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire. No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured me more, not even the one who betrayed me to torture, not even the one who caressed me and forgot.