Quotes About Memory

If you forget everything else about me, please remember this. I walked down that street and I never looked back and I love you. I love you. I love you so much that I shall hate you for ever for today.

The dead live." "How do they live?" "By love.

You do not even think of your own past as quite real; you dress it up, you gild it or blacken it, censor it, tinker with it...fictionalize it, in a word, and put it away on a shelf - your book, your romanced autobiography. We are all in the flight from the real reality. That is the basic definition of Homo sapiens.

These things I shall remember by the way, and often they may seem to be the very tale itself, as when I was living them in happiness and sorrow. But now that I can see it all as from a lonely hilltop, I know it was the story of a mighty vision given to a man too weak to use it; of a holy tree that should have flourished in a people's heart with flowers and singing birds, and now is withered; and of a people's dream that died in bloody snow.

Memory heaps dead leaves on corpse-like deeds, from under which they do but vaguely offend the sense.

spiritual or emotional pain doesn't become a memory so much as a bruise ...

your memory is a warm stone hidden in my hand I'm always turning over...

every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?...

dark embers smolder inside me - one touch and they flare - who would have thought memory combustible, or near you bright sparks appear?...

I want to live doubly - first with you and then afterwards in memory ...

the answer is not in the damn blank page - it's in the days or years before and you have to dredge it up - exhume the past again ...

I remember your profile in darkness outlined by stars ...

you lifted the veil when you admitted you had no memory of that day - it was so special and your lack of recall so monstrous...

A madeleine moment - a sound, a scent can incant her presence...

I've marked our sacred place not with stones - I've put it my art to keep it safe...

I remember the oily smoke of a cigarette suspended in a shaft of sunlight - with you, everything was beautiful...

Remember that time in the minivan, twenty minutes ago, when we didn't die?

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

The town was paper, but the memories were not.

I will not tell you our love story, because-like all real love stories-it will die with us,as it should.

I didn't dare think of the future; the past was still happening.

We live in a world where amnesia is the most wished-for state. When did history become a bad word?

history is to society what memory is to the individual.

It was a good memory, so he drove it down, crushed it. It only made things harder.