Quotes About Memory

Those words of his are mine forever now.

I was an actor once, I muttered, in another life.

Then I stood from the wall, held her in my arms, and kissed her. It was a long kiss. We lived out a life together in that kiss: we lived and loved and grew old together, and we died. Then our lips parted, and that life we might've had retreated, shrinking to a spark of light we would always recognise in one another's eyes

I wish now with all my heart that I did. The past reflects eternally between two mirrors—the bright mirror of words and deeds, and the dark one, full of things we didn't do or say.

His was the definition that stayed with me.

Feeling small and alone and lonely, I walked by memory and touch through the dark, lightless lanes of the slum.

The wound healed, but it left an ugly, rippling scar. The memory of it never left me.

She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she...

Oh, everything is gorgeous once it's gone.

To read, even in the half-dark, is also to call the lost forward.

Forget us, forget us all, it makes no difference now, but don't forget we loved it when we were alive.

The future reshapes the memory of the past in the way it recalibrates significance: some episodes are advanced, others lose purchase.

What is strange is that we may remember what we have done, but not always why we did it.

I have a vivid memory of loving Keith Hernandez, the first baseman for the '86 Mets. I grew up in Queens, so when the Mets won the World Series that year, it was a big deal.

I was sitting in my office when someone called to tell me two light planes had collided with the World Trade Centre. I turned on my television; before long, there was this procession of people of all kinds walking up the street. What I remember most was the silence of that crowd; there was no sound.

We live in downtown Manhattan and we have pretty big windows that looked right at the World Trade Center. I was home along with Kai and we watched it all happen. I was holding him in my arms and we were looking out the window when the second plane hit.

Every year, I am conscious of the anniversary of my 1974 World Trade Center walk.

I will never forget the bright September day, standing at my desk in the White House, when my young assistant said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center - and then a second one - and a third, the Pentagon.

When I designed my loft, I literally framed the World Trade Center as a picture postcard I could see from my bed. I no longer have that image, and I mourn it.

Everybody has forgotten that Russia helped start the Second World War.

The Russian myths of the Second World War are still intact.

As a Jew, I was taught that it was ethically imperative to speak up and to speak out against arbitrary state violence. That was part of what I learned when I learned about the Second World War and the concentration camps.

If you take a book of a thousand pages on the Second World War, in which 50 million people died, the concentration camps occupy two pages and the gas chambers ten or 15 lines, and that's what one calls a detail.

Dad was in the First World War in the Royal Field Artillery from 1914 to 1918, as well as uncle Leonard.