Quotes About Memory

I remember a song we used to sing, Columbia, Gem of the Ocean. But I thought it was, Columbus, Jump in the Ocean.

I had to hold on to my anger and my bitterness as a way of honoring those I'd lost.

Your mother will always exist in you. She will give you strength wherever you go.

You look at me now and see an old face, but once I was beautiful.

The widow tells me that her monthly moon water is irregular. She has trouble sleeping and is plagued by bouts of sweating. She says she's always taken humble pride in being sharp of mind. "But now I can't remember a thing!" she complains.

When they die, they keep loving. If love ends when a person dies, that is not real love.

I close my eyes. I hear the voices of the past in the wind and in the beating of my heart.

Could love be strong enough to outlast death not once but three times?

individual family. It showed an infant's face blown up so big it was blurry.

But did you know that eyewitness testimony is often totally unreliable? The human memory only records events through the filter of its own frame of reference. We try to fit the information we receive into schemas, units of knowledge that we possess about the world that correspond with frequently encountered situations, individuals, ideas, and situations. In other words, we often see things as we expect to see them, or want to see them, and not always as they are.

Memory is elastic, and no two people have the same version of any given event. Our versions of our own lives are necessarily fictional to some degree, wouldn't you agree?

People, no one tells you when you're young, fade as time passes without them—all the little qualities and tics, the happy times, the sweet moments, become blurry and vague. It's the bad things that stay with you, the ugly things that nag.

She heeded Bluebeard's warning, thought Pandora was a fool. There are some memories better abandoned. Common wisdom demanded examination of the past, probing of childhood pain and trauma. Then—acceptance, release, and ultimately forgiveness.

What is the difference between fiction and memoir, really? I mean, isn't there a bit of autobiography in every novel? And isn't there a bit of fiction in every memoir? Memory is elastic, and no two people have the same version of any given event. Our versions of our own lives are necessarily fictional to some degree, wouldn't you agree?

It's strange how memory gets twisted and pulled like taffy in its retelling, how a single event can mean something different to everyone present.

What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can't reread a phone call.

For a second, I see into the future: she's old and grey, she has senile dementia and can't remember my name. The thought pretty much breaks my heart in two.

Yet long afterward, when all had passed away into distant memory, there were many who wondered whether King Taran, Queen Eilonwy, and their companions had indeed walked the earth, or whether they had been no more than dreams in a tale set down to beguile children. And, in time, only the bards knew the truth of it.

Inconvient things are always remembered

Thus he illustrated a perennial problem of new theological thinking: it is all too soon forgotten as a new generation arises, one that 'knows not Joseph'.

I'm going to give you the memory of a rainbow.

Once, back in the time of the memories, everything had a shape and size, the way things still do, but they also had a quality called COLOR.

She smiles, and her eyes look as if they can see back into her memory, into all the things that have gone into making a person what they are.

He called after her as she walked away on the path. Alys? Why were we dancing? Take your mind there again, she called back. You'll remember! To herself she murmured, shaking her head with amusement as her eyes twinkled at her own memory. Only thirteen. But we was barefoot and flower-strewn and foolish with first love.