Quotes About Memory

She can't quite bring herself to say more than that. And even when Jim had been alive and well, despite being happy and settled and everything else that came with a twenty-year marriage, it had been Aiden she'd thought about before falling asleep, Aiden she'd fantasised about when the mood took her.

I wasn't worried, but I thought I should know something that didn't seem to be there anymore. It was gone, whatever it was, fleeting and slippery like a fish darting through silky weeds. From

It's hard to say you miss someone who you never really knew

I breathe in and I remember you. I breathe out and remember you, I'll always remember everything.

Listen to the beat. Play the sound of his voice over and over again in your mind. You try to turn down the volume but baby this speaker has no controls. Just close your eyes. Listen to the last notes of this solemn memory. Live honey, can't forget, but you gotta live cause you gotta prove them all wrong about you, gotta show'um you won't be the one to slip between the earthquake lines forming in this dry dirt...

There is a broken song that plays over in my head each time I hear someone say his name.

I arrive home with pink flushed cheeks and glittering green-blue eyes. The hardest part is the his smell that lingers on my skin. He is here and yet he isn't here at all. It is only a trick of the mind; a terrible delusion that leaves me with pale, white arms grasping out into the shallow blunt, blackness for someone who is far away. Someone who leaves you feeling utterly and beautifully broken.

January seems like a year ago.

Every word you have ever uttered, is engraved upon my heart.

Why can't they invent a pill that will keep you from remembering someone you don't want to remember?

Das war alles Teil ihrer Unfähigkeit, dieses 'für immer' zu begreifen. Sie konnte sich durchaus vorstellen, dass jemand fort war, das Schwierige war, zu erfassen, dass diese Person niemals wiederkehren würde.

I momenti più crudeli vengono offuscati e distorti dal ripetersi dell'atto di ricordare, che per lei comportava il non ricordare esattamente come si era sentita perché il trauma era ormai assorbito: anch'esso era diventato un ricordo, privo della capacità che aveva di aggredirla all'improvviso.

It was funny how with grown-ups you had to say the same things again and again. Perhaps that was why babies were born with such big heads: the head stayed the same and the person got larger, but it meant that there was the same amount of room in your brain to remember things, so the longer you lived, the more you forgot.

La gente crede che le cose dette siano più facili da cancellare, mentre in realtà il tono di voce, i movimenti e le espressioni le fissano in modo indelebile.

I heard a wisp of regret in Dad's voice and pictured him angled against the stove in the

useful mnemonic for remembering the geologic periods of the last half-billion years is: Camels Often Sit Down Carefully, Perhaps Their Joints Creak (Cambrian-Ordovician-Silurian-Devonian-Carboniferous-Permian-Triassic-Jurassic-Cretaceous). The mnemonic unfortunately runs out before the most recent periods: the Paleogene, the Neogene, and the current Quaternary.

This is the case even though a hundred million years from now, all that we consider to be the great works of man—the sculptures and the libraries, the monuments and the museums, the cities and the factories—will be compressed into a layer of sediment not much thicker than a cigarette paper.

all that we consider to be the great works of man - the sculptures and the libraries, the monuments and the museums, the cities and the factories - will be compressed into a layer of sediment not much thicker than a cigarette paper.

The heart does not go backward. Only the mind.

I believe in walking out of a museum before the paintings you've seen begin to run together. How else can you carry anything away with you in your mind's eye?

Hearing the high thin cries in the autumn Ellen would remember the one time when she had met Miss Amanda on a path. Her bright cotton dress had come flashing in the way and she had walked quickly by, without a greeting, her mouth lifted into a bent smile and her eyes slanting away as if she said, 'I don't care!' Even in her denial she added to the increasing richness of the farms.

I want a book that acknowledges that life goes on but that death goes on, too, that a person who is dead is a long, long story. You move on from it, but the death will never disappear from view. Your friends may say, Time heals all wounds. No, it doesn't, but eventually you'll feel better. You'll be yourself again.

My memories are not books. They are only stories that I have been over so many times in my head that I don't know from one day to the next what's remembered and what's made up.

The dead live on in the homeliest of ways. They're listed in the phone book. They get mail. Their wigs rest on Styrofoam heads at the back of closets. Their beds are made. Their shoes are everywhere.