Quotes About Memory

Few are the memories which are more than a handful of dust, to be let run through the fingers.

I don't have any control over what memories I get, when I get them. Except every single one of them is something I would have rather forgotten. -- "Erase, Erase, Erase

What would it do to your psyche if this were your sky? What would it do to the racial awareness of your species if this were their memory of their dirt-bound cradle, before they stepped out into the great emptiness beyond?

Memory is a spiderweb. It hangs in a corner and collects dust. Unless you need it to catch a fly.

He wanted to close his eyes at the declaration, remembering the heat of a crimson iron close enough to curl his lashes. The hand that did not hold his cane tightened on a bit of silk in his socket, and something pricked him. The enchanted nail Kit had given him, and Will drew strength from it.

How subjective the world must have been, then, when no one could remember the same events, and nobody would remember them for long.

Faerie had no cold like England; rather it had the dream of cold, and the memory of frost.

Benedick's flesh, and his colony were replete with recollections that he would have preferred to erase, undo, or lose forever.

My moment of infamy was a long time ago.

I've got a head so full of dead people I suspect whoever I started off as should be counted as one of them.

Benedick found irony in his knowledge that the symbiont Cynric herself had created-and inoculated into Benedick by her own hand-was the very thing that allowed Benedick to remember her murder so precisely.

As they broke apart, the information safely handed over, the memory of the kiss left Dust full of an aching emptiness, everywhere his airborne nanoparticls drifted and spread.

Amazing how one's organic memory could cling so tightly to the worst moments of a life, and lose everything that surrounded them.

The world had moved on without them. She would not play the game of memory.

Everyone else had forgotten, or was forbidden from remembering, which came to the same thing. Dust had never been human, but he remembered.

She remembered the tarnished, their perverted kiss, and how their victims, even spared would return to be taken again.

Perfidious candle-flicker," he said in a hush. "Remember me.

The thing that willed up inside me wasn't words, exactly. It was…notes, music. A pattern of sounds, or perhaps it would be more accurate to liken it to the recalled memory of sounds, arranged into a pleasing and harmonious whole. As Singer had described it-a song.

Shared breath brought tumbling memories, salty bittersweet jewels.

He remembered more of being human than the humans did.

Continuity of experience is an illusion, old man.

There had been times in the last decade and a half when Vincent had been convinced he'd never exactly remember that face. And there had been times when he'd been just as convinced had never get it out of his head. That he could feel Michelangelo standing beside him, glowering as he was glowering now.

He glanced down, his lashes thick and ivory against his blue-tinged cheek, and draw the dead man's sheath and knife from his boot.

The smile that curved lovely lips made Tristen shiver with memory.