Quotes About Memory

Sixty-four has a way of forgetting what twenty-one was like.

When it comes to the past, we all stack the deck.

There's an old joke about Alzheimer's: the good news is that you meet new people every day.

Resurrection... ah, there's a word (that you should put right the fuck out of your mind and you know it).

We all remember our pleasant dreams more clearly than the scary ones.

The Writer: [voiceover] I was 12 going on 13 the first time I saw a dead human being. It happened in the summer of 1959-a long time ago, but only if you measure in terms of years. I was living in a small town in Oregon called Castle Rock. There were only twelve hundred and eighty-one people. But to me, it was the whole world.

He was nothing but a conduit, after all, and there isn't a culvert in the world that remembers the water flowed through it once the rain has stopped.

It was a moment he remembered for years after, as though a special small slice had been cut from the cake of time. If nothing fires between two people, such an instant simply falls back into the general wrack of memory.

Are you still forgetting things? I don't know, I can't remember, I said.

Time is a thief of memory

We all write fiction when we write about the past.

Absence may or may not make the heart grow fonder, but it certainly freshens the eye.

he never forgot that sweet, violent feeling of having touched some great adventure, of having looked for a moment at some beautiful white light that was, in fact, every color of the rainbow.

It was as if the body disdained memory... or refused the responsibility of it.

Danny strolled to the town common, sat on one of the benches in Teenytown and took one of the bottles out of the bag, looking down on it like Hamlet with Yorick's skull

Dead people put on weight, it seems to me; both in their flesh and in our minds, they put on weight.

You see, I may be trying to forget, but I still remember quite a lot.

The pain wasn't tidal. That was the lesson of the dream which was really a memory. The pain only appeared to come and go. The pain was like the piling, sometimes covered and sometimes visible, but always there.

Soft and sweet and mellow, the song came back and lingered, following her down into a deeper sleep where thought ceased and the faces that came in dreams went unremembered.

Fright and loss leave residue.

Allie sighed. It was an old, yellow sound, like turning pages.

She felt like someone who drowns remembering what it was like to still be on the boat, so calm and at ease, so carelessly safe

When it comes to memory, we all stack the deck.

Each life makes its own imitation of immortality.