Quotes About Memory

My definition of man is "a cooking animal." The beasts have memory, judgment, and all the faculties and passions of our mind, in a certain degree; but no beast is a cook…. Man alone can dress a good dish; and every man whatever is more or less a cook, in seasoning what he himself eats.

It amuses me to weep for a dead man with eyes that once were his.

The larger the pile of rubble you leave behind, the larger your place in the historical record!

Discipleship is a commitment to the memory and presence of Jesus Christ that makes a difference in how a life is lived, driving thought and behavior week in and week out.

The file cabinets in my head are never-ending rows of knowledge and creativity.

I have intelligent and very successful women lined up around the block stalking me but without one remembering their roots it's no dice to me

That is how we always keep our beloved dead alive, isn't it? By telling stories about them; true stories.

the experience of battle forever divides those who talk of nothing else but its prospect from those who talk of everything else but its memory.

So let's say our bloody goodbyes, and then you can promise to remember me from my good old days. "I can't do that," Minho said.

It was her. It was Teresa.

Wonder why we can do this,' he called out with his mind. The mental effort of speaking to her was already straining—he felt a headache forming like a bulge in his brain. 'Maybe we were lovers,' Teresa said. Thomas tripped and crashed to the ground. Smiling sheepishly at Minho, who'd turned to look without slowing, Thomas got back up and caught up to him. 'What?' he finally asked. He sensed a laugh from her, a watery image full of color.

Thoughts of the girl crashed around his mind, made him remember the connection he felt. A sadness washed over him, as if he missed her, wanted to see her. That doesn't make sense, he thought. I don't even know her name.

I wrote the lies of my farewell with two fingers.

For some reason, he was different from everyone else in the Glade. He felt like he'd lived an entire lifetime since awakening from his memory wipe, but he'd only been there a week.

I know you," Gally added without looking back. "I saw you in the Changing, and I'm gonna figure out who you are.

Losing parts of your memory didn't make you an idiot.

Parece un laberinto —susurró Thomas, casi riéndose para sus adentros. Como si las cosas no pudieran ponerse más raras. Le habían borrado la memoria y le habían metido en un laberinto gigante. Era una locura tan grande que hasta le hacía gracia.

Thomas knew he had to be careful. It was strange that she only agreed with him about WICKED now that she'd gotten her memories back.

Forgetting about you was the worst part." At first, Thomas thought it was another message in his head; he squeezed his fists against his ears.

Michael literally couldn't remember the last time he had seen his parents.

Yo me acuerdo que recordaba -murmuró. Emitió un largo suspiro mientras se sentaba, encogía las piernas y ponía los brazos alrededor de ellas-. Sentimientos. Emociones. Como si tuviera en mi cabeza estantes con etiquetas para los recuerdos y las caras, pero vacíos. Como si todo lo anterior esto se encontrara del otro lado de una cortina blanca. También tú.

I remember remembering," she muttered, sitting down with a heavy sigh; she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around her knees. "Feelings. Emotions. Like I have all these shelves in my head, labeled for memories and faces, but they're empty. As if everything before this is just on the other side of a white curtain. Including you.

Thomas's mouth dried up—he'd seen them face to face, remembered it all too well; he had to remind himself to breathe. The others in the room were still; no one made a sound. Fear seemed to hover in the air like a blizzard of black snow.

He's not learning. He's not experiencing. He's remembering. He walks to the next screen, hungry to be himself again.