Quotes About Memory

One forgets the dead quite quickly; one doesn't wonder about the dead-what is he doing now, who is he with?

The first dog I ever had was called Prince. I called him after the Black Prince. You know, the fellow who...' 'Massacred all the women and children in Limoges.' 'I don't remember that.' 'The history books gloss it over.

One can go back to one's own home after a year's absence and immediately the door closes it is as if one had never been away. Or one can go back after a few hours and everything is so changed that one is a stranger.

to each man a city consists of no more than a few streets, a few houses, a few people. Remove those few and a city exists no longer except as a pain in the memory...

A first reading is something special, like first love.

a book is like a sandy path which keeps the indent of footprints.

They can print statistics and count the populations in hundreds of thousands, but to each man a city consists of no more than a few streets, a few houses, a few people. Remove those few and a city exists no longer except as a pain in the memory, like the pain of an amputated leg no longer there.

Un hombre sin recuerdos puede llegar a los cien años y sentir que su vida ha sido muy corta.

Once for five minutes seven years ago they had been lovers—if you could give that name to a relationship in which she had never used his baptismal name: to her it was just an incident, a scratch which heals completely in the healthy flesh: she was even proud of having been the priest's woman. He alone carried a wound, as though a whole world had died.

He watched her go out of the dark office like fifteen wasted years.

Memories are a form of simile: when we say something is 'like' we are remembering.

I am now in my twenty-second year and yet the only birthday which I can clearly distinguish among all the rest is my twelfth, for it was on that damp and misty day in September I met the Captain for the first time.

I had no memory at all of Sarah and I was completely free from anxiety, jealousy, insecurity, hate: my mind was a blank sheet on which somebody had just been on the point of writing a message of happiness. I felt sure that when my memory came back, the writing would continue and that I should be happy.

Neither of us mentioned him when we woke on the morning after his death...One is not jealous of the dead, and it seemed easy to me that morning to take up our old life together.

All characters once dead, if they continue to exist in memory at all, tend to become fictions.

He was a man one always forgot. To this day I cannot describe him, except his fatness and his powdered clean-shaven cheeks and his big laugh; all his identity escapes me - except that he was called Joe. There are some men whose names are always shortened.

Männer, die die Stadt für immer verlassen hatten, erinnerten sich manchmal an einem grauen, naßkalten Abend in London des rosigen Schimmers und der glühenden Pracht, die, kaum gesehen, auch schon wieder verblichen; sie fragten sich dann, warum sie die Küste so gehaßt hatten, und solange sie einen Tropfen im Glase hatten, sehnten sie sich danach, dorthin zurückzukehren.

It seemed odd that a man's smell should cling in the folds of a curtain so long after the man himself had become dead matter, a gas, a decay.

His heart beat and the band played, and inside the lean experienced skull lay childhood.

She had an immense store of trivial memories and when she wasn't living in the future she was living in the past. As for the present—she got through that as quickly as she could, running away from things, running towards things, so that her voice was always a little breathless, her heart pounding at an escape or an expectation.

It always seemed strange to Wormold that he continued to exist for others when he was not there.

There are small bits of useless knowledge which stick to one's brain like barnacles to

Wir, die wir einst herrlich waren. Wir fallen immer noch aus den Wolken. ??, ??????? ???? ?????-?? ????????????. ?? ??? ??? ?????? ?? ???????. («ÃŸÃ'€Ð°Ð²Ð´Ð° ?????», ???? ?????)

There are certain songs, and books, and films that are like points of high ground in the memory. Like they are even larger than your own experiences. They never go away.