Quotes About Memory

Ignoro de qué sustancia extraordinaria está confeccionada la identidad, pero es un tejido discontinuo que zurcimos a fuerza de voluntad y de memoria.

Los recuerdos no son siempre lo que parecen.

Yo no soy mi memoria. Que además sé que es falsa. Yo soy mis actos y mis días.

Los recuerdos no son siempre lo que parecen.

Tan difícil es de entender que, cuando se te ha ido alguien querido, lo que no te cabe en la cabeza es su imposible ausencia?

el uso de la tercera persona convierte el caos de los recuerdos en un simulacro narrativo y disfraza de orden la existencia.

La vida es una constante reescritura del ayer. Una deconstrucción de la niñez.

Para ser, tenemos que narrarnos, y en ese cuento de nosotros mismos hay muchísimo cuento: nos mentimos, nos imaginamos, nos engañamos. Lo que hoy relatamos de nuestra infancia no tiene nada que ver con lo que relataremos dentro de veinte años. Y lo que uno recuerda de la historia común familiar suele ser completamente distinto de lo que recuerdan los hermanos.

nosotros mismos, porque nuestra identidad reside en la memoria, en el relato de nuestra biografía

the sound of her laughter brought back, with a piercing clarity, ringing across the years, the memory of other laughter, and the unexpected ecstasies and physical joys that happen, perhaps, only once in any person's lifetime.

The past is another country, but the journey could be made.

but had forgotten all their names. A light burnt over the door. He went up the path, sea-pebbles crunching

And in this life, nothing good is ever lost. It stays part of a person, becomes part of their character. So part of you goes everywhere with me. And part of me is yours forever

It was good. And nothing good is ever lost. It stays part of a person, becomes part of one's character.

I think,' said Leo [Walton], 'that he [William, 'Tiger'] must have fallen in love with you, he certainly remembered you with the eye of love.' ['Skelmerton']

The past is another country.

Laurence Binyon. He was Poet Laureate at the end of the Great War. He wrote it." "What did he write?" "They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

the memory of other laughter, and the unexpected ecstasies and physical joys that happen, perhaps, only once in any person's lifetime. It was good. And nothing good is ever

What we do today will become tomorrow's memory; and often the past we are now creating returns to haunt us.

Zaten bir ÅŸey geçmiÅŸte kald??? zaman, onu ÅŸimdiki an?n gerçekliÄŸinde bir fanteziden, bir ilüzyondan farkl? k?lan ÅŸey nedir ki? Bir zamanlar yaÅŸanm?? olsa da art?k an?lar d???nda var olamaz.

Bilirsin biz kad?nlar?n ba?? an?larla döner; hayat?m?z boyunca yüzümüzü geçmiÅŸe dönüp geri geri yürürüz.

He appears to Paul like an old man, choking up with half-remembered things, as though there were a great struggle going on inside him to find, in among all that was half-remembered, those moments which had been absolute and true.

The past was filling the room like a tide of whispers.

And, they would still be alive today...If they hadn't died, that is