Quotes About Memory

Cuando amas a alguien, nunca se termina... Sigues adelante, porque tienes que hacerlo, pero lo llevas contigo en tu corazón.

Recordar puede ser tan doloroso cómo no recordar.

Percival Everett by Virgil Russell

The whistle now resides at the Pratt Institute but used to blow the shift changes at Bethlehem Steel;

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them.

It is important to remember now, amid all this debris, how frightened we used to be.

But after he tells you how they died, I want you to remember how they lived(...)

One is seldom unchanged by the death of those one loves. It gives me a deeper knowledge of them, and so of oneself in regard to them.

Just as it takes death to awaken us to the full stature of someone loved

Only at the very center of pain or joy was one wholly wretched, wholly joyful. There was only one hour of the night in which sunset or dawn was not present to the mind in memory or hope, only one hour of the day when the sun seemed neither rising nor declining, and the intensity of those hours dulled and blinded.

The other two with their happy, objective minds would always be absorbed in the moment but she would look backward and remember, and look forward and be afraid, and the present would always confuse her because she would never entirely live in it.

He strolled to the front door and stood watching, letting the picture of Felicity grave itself so deeply on his mind that when with the passing of time it would seem to other people that she had grown old and lost her beauty it would not seem so to him.

When he had first come to Mr. Peabody he had not wanted to look back. He had felt like someone just awake after a nightmare, and afraid to think about it lest it catch him again, but now the evil had receded so far that he liked to set it as a backcloth to the procession of his shining days.

Her earliest memory was of wings. Luminous red and blue, yellow and green and orange; a black so rich it appeared liquid, edible. They moved above her and the sunlight made them glow as though they were themselves made of light, fragments of another, brighter world falling to earth about her crib. Her tiny hands stretched upwards to grasp them but could not: they were too elusive, too radiant, too much of the air.

has proved to be true. You have a first city as you have a first lover, and this was mine.

Me, I drink to remember. If the right music's playing, if it's dark enough and I'm loaded, I can sometimes catch a flicker of that 3:00 A.M. feeling I used to live for.

It can fuck you up, if you meet the most important person in your life when you're sixteen, seventeen. You imprint on them, and you never escape from it. That's what happened to me.

Remember me at Winterlong.

Christmas was gone. Brendan didn't even hate it, because how could you hate something that was dead?

While you are living, part of you has slipped away to the cemetery.

The stain of place hangs on not as a birthright but as a sort of artifice, a bit of cosmetic.

If only one knew what to remember or pretend to remember. Make a decision and what you want from the lost things will present itself. You can take it down like a can from a shelf. Perhaps.

She would always be living her life backwards, she realized, trying to regain something perfect that she'd lost.

She remembers reaching into her schoolbag for the letter the way you reach for a second piece of cake if it remains on the table long enough. You do it without thinking, even though you've been thinking of nothing else.