Quotes About Memory

Then it would be over. Over and dead and done with, never to live again. He would recall his longing as something that had once occupied an augur whose name chanced to be his, Silk, a name not common but by no means outlandish. (The old caldé, whose bust his mother had kept at the back of her closet, had been—what? Had he been Silk, too? No, Tussah; but tussah was another costly fabric.) He would try to bring peace and to save his manteion, fail at both, and die.

As children we have no appreciation of scenery because, having not yet stored similar scenes in our imagination, with their attendant emotions and circumstances, we perceive it without psychic depth. I now looked at the cloudcrowned summits with my

From the top of the ramp he looked back and saw them go, their glasses crashing to the flagstoned paths and brick paved patios, their cigarettes dropping like poisoned fireflies. "I loved you," the girl said. "Or at least I liked you. You'll be gone in a moment and I can't even ask you to kiss me, because I'm going to be sick." "We're still here," John Edward told her, "both of us." And she was gone.

The past stood at my shoulder, naked and defenseless as all dead things, as though it were time itself that had been laid open by the fall of the mountain.

I love you, but you are another death, a death that has stayed with me and befriended me as the old death in the lake did, but death all the same.

The plain shiprock walls, and the painted statue of Lord Pas (from which the paint was peeling) will remain with me until the day I die, always somewhat colored by the wonder I felt as a small boy at seeing a black cock struggling in the old man's hands after he had cut its throat, its wings beating frantically, beating as if they might live after all, live somehow somewhere, if only they could spray the whole place with blood before they failed. My

I had survived, and I should be dead. I was haunted by my own life.

We meet and love, someone builds a tomb for us, perhaps. It does not matter—someone else will rob it, and the winds puff away our dust; then we shall be forgotten.

The heart remembers even when no trace of face or voice remains.

A knight," I told myself, "doesn't bother to count the enemy." Another step, and another. "But I wish I'd found Disiri—that I could see her once more before I go." Ben, I cannot tell you how I knew then that I was going to lose even the memory of her. But I did.

There was a time when she did not remember my name or that we were married, but she still remembered that she loved me.

Sometimes when all our attention is thus focused on memory, our eyes, unguided by ourselves, will distinguish from a mass of detail some single object, presenting it with a clarity never achieved by concentration.

The past cannot be found in the future where it is not

She would think I was an idiot, and I knew it. Only if I had not whistled, for the rest of my life I would remember that moment and how I had wanted to whistle but had not had the guts.

So it comes about that the war [World War I] seems, to us, to have been fought less over territory than the way it would be remembered, that the war's true subject is remembrance. Indeed the whole war — which was being remembered even as it was fought, whose fallen were being remembered before they fell — seems not so much to be tinted by retrospect as to have been fought retrospectively.

Then he just let it ring, the phone pressed to his head like a pistol, her picture in his hands.

There is no man so unsuited for the task of speaking about memory as I am, for I find scarcely a trace of it in myself, and I do not believe there is another man in the world so hideously lacking in it.

You always use that word remember,' said Milena. 'You say, remember, team. You never tell us to think.

Designer of information superhighways need to take the occasional stroll down memory lane.

He who repeats a tale after a man, Is bound to say, as nearly as he can, Each single word, if he remembers it, However rudely spoken or unfit, Or else the tale he tells will be untrue, The things invented and the phrases new.

Through memory and language, we can transform a pure fitness cost in the past (such as a physical wound or a social rejection) into a reliable fitness indicator in the present (a story about our ability to heal without disability, or to overcome depression).

Churchill was obsessively devoted to his father, and ever after passionately concerned to justify himself to the shade of the man whose death had ended 'all my dreams of comradeship with him, of entering Parliament at his side, and in his support. There remained for me only to pursue his aims and vindicate his memory.' There is the crucial word: vindicate.

Commending myself to your kind memories, I wish you pleasant holidays.

The pallid shades of memory struggle in vain with the life and freedom of the Present.