Quotes About Memory

Afrodisíacos en la sopa. Oscar recordó vagamente una cena con velas y vino preparada por Natalia. Después del postre había sentido una comezón en el área púbica seguida de una leve indigestión. Y eso había sido todo.

Supongo que nuestra memoria es como una película de asesinos en serie. Cada giro de la historia cambia el sentido total. Miras atrás y los detalles antes relevantes ya no son los que creías.

Lo peor no es la muerte. Es la tristeza de los que quedamos vivos. Es el vacío.

someone will remember us I say even in another time

You may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us

Someone, I tell you, in another time will remember us.

I declare That later on, Even in an age unlike our own, Someone will remember who we are.

Why are we so careless that we let our own histories die without even noticing?

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

When she comes to retrieve me [in the nursing home], after the tan-colored pudding with edible oil topping has sat for a while and been removed...

Age is a terrible thief.

He whispers in her ear, and she basks in his attention, trumpeting happily at the sight of him. Doesn't she remember?

age is a terrible theif

90/93-year-old Jacob wonders as he gazes at his aged reflection, 'When did I stop being me?

But then this Isabelle turned and laughed and in that instant I saw my wife. This made me weepy and these people whom I didn't recognize exchanged furtive glances and shortly thereafter announced that it was time to leave because Grandpa needed his rest. They patted my hand and they tucked my blanket in around my knees, and they left. They went out into the world, and they left me here. And to this day I have no idea who they were. I

Actually, it's not so much that I've forgotten. It's more like I've stopped keeping track.

ones I had watched.

Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it

That's immortality my darlings Spencer said.

This was a memory I wanted to keep, whole, and recall again and again. When I was fifty years old I wanted to remember this moment on the porch, holding hands with Cameron while he shared himself with me. I didn't want it to be something on the fringes of my memory like so many other things about Cameron and myself.

I tried his cell over and over but he never answered. Then I'd call just to hear his voice on the outgoing message, until eventually that was gone too.

This is the last time, the girl thought, that she would remember these things. If they floated back to her again, she would paddle away. When the remembering was done, the forgetting could begin.

There are things I want to remember about Cameron Quick that I can't entirely, like the pajamas he wore when he used to sleep over, and his favorite cereal, or how it felt to hold his hand as we walked home from school in third grade. I want to remember exactly how we became friends in the first place, a definite starting line that I can visit again and again. He's a story I want to know from page one.

Happy Birthday, Jennifer. And a pencil-line drawing of a house. And under a piece of Scotch tape a ring, just a cheap ring with a blue glass stone. I'm back , it read. Love, Cameron Quick.