Quotes About Memory

Oh, human memory is shorter than I thought.

My father's ambiguous smile swam before my eyes.

The boy still smells like Strifbjorn.

The dead cast no shadows; nor did they reflect.

Sebastien said nothing, but his lips burned with Jack's warmth as he shut the door behind himself and turned to face the stair.

She was old, and too worn thin to wonder. But oh, what a beautiful boy he was then.

Kit woke curled tight in layers of his cloak, the French seams he'd stitched flat still prickling his skin, a name on his lips, Mehiel.

He sipped his wine and swirled it in the goblet, wishing bitterly that he could close the distance to the little cover by the fire and be one of them again. Wishing he could remember the touch of Will's hand, the press of Tom's mouth, without tasting the enormous soft emptiness that threatened to open like black wings and enfold him.

She shoved the thought of Genie's giant bright lost eyes into the same box where she kept the memories of Leah, Carver, her mother and father, and Papa Georges.

Kit woke in absolute blackness, with a ringing head, and tried to remember how he had gotten there and why he was lying on a dank, lumpy surface with the taste of earth on his lips.

Such a pretty lad," she said. "I remember your brother very well. Good sport in that one.

The baby in her arms was silent: ensorceled, and there would be a simulacram left in the crib, a changeling. A fey mockery to die by sunrise, and leave the grieving family to wonder. Crib death. Elf-stroke. How little we remember.

Having reclaimed the world's neural networks and integrated the memories of the splintered angels she'd consumed, she had access-finally-to an enormous database of useful information.

Somehow his memory for things concerning the Wolf-and Muire, for that matter-seemed very crisp. Vivid, as if only they they were real and the rest of his life had been a dream.

The rain washing his house tickled his skin, the memory of a caress on skin that had not felt such a thing in centuries.

Golden wings, golden eyes, a dream of memory and warmth as Kit dropped to his knees, body clenched around a scream he was still too proud to give voice.

By the elements, by the ten directions. I have not forgotten. My name is Jacob Dust, and I have not forgotten.

I will come back as a little breeze. You will feel me on your face, and you will know that I am still listening. So you can still talk to me.

Well, anyway, her death changed our lives for the better, because it brought a kind of awareness, a specific sense of purpose and appreciation we hadn't had before. Would I trade that in order to have her back? In a fraction of a millisecond. But I won't ever have her back. So I have taken this, as her great gift to us. But. Do I block her out? Never. Do I think of her? Always. In some part of my brain, I think of her every single moment of every single day.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

—Yesterday brought to today so lightly!(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)

—And Friday, my dear Friday, died of measlesseventeen years ago come March.

Life and the memory of it cramped,dim, on a piece of Bristol board.

I leave a lovely opalescent ribbon: I know this.