Quotes About Memory

You can remember without seeing it.

For an actress to be a success she must have the face of Venus, the brains of Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of Macaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.

One may write about the child one was with the same freedom that a novelist creates a character. There is no fear of egotism, for the portrait is one of faint colors, and the incidents that crowd in on any small life are incidents of childhood rather than of a particular child.

For an actress to be a success, she must have the face of a Venus, the brains of a Minerva, the grace of Terpsichore, the memory of a MaCaulay, the figure of Juno, and the hide of a rhinoceros.

Already she meant everything to him but he'd completely forgotten her name.

Each of us, actually every animal, is a data scientist. We collect data from our sensors, and then we process the data to get abstract rules to perceive our environment and control our actions in that environment to minimize pain and/or maximize pleasure. We have memory to store those rules in our brains, and then we recall and use them when needed. Learning is lifelong; we forget rules when they no longer apply or revise them when the environment changes. Learning

Derrière la maison, la pluie et la tempête des derniers jours ont ravagé le jasmin, ses fleurs blanches flottent éparpillées dans les flaques noires sur le toit plat du garage. Mais quelque part en moi ce jasmin continue à fleurir, aussi exubérant, aussi tendre que par le passé." (176)

Writing fiction has developed in me an abiding respect for the unknown in a human lifetime and a sense of where to look for the threads, how to follow, how to connect, find in the thick of the tangle what clear line persists. The strands are all there: to the memory nothing is ever really lost.

A good snapshot stops a moment from running away.

Southerners love a good tale. They are born reciters, great memory retainers, diary keepers, letter exchangers . . . great talkers.

It is our inward journey that leads us through time – forward or back, seldom in a straight line, most often spiraling. Each of us is moving, changing, with respect to others. As we discover, we remember; remembering, we discover; and most intensely do we experience this when our separate journeys converge. Our living experience at those meeting points is one of the charged dramatic fields of fiction.

I still forget, sometimes, that I am no longer 12 years old.

By keeping a record of my experiences I live my life twice over. The past returns to me. The future is always with me. (Wednesday 7 April 1824)

As palavras que te envio são interditas até, meu amor, pelo halo das searas; se alguma regressasse, nem já reconhecia o teu nome nas suas curvas claras.

I think the Marine Corps has forgotten where Pavuvu is," one man said. "I think God has forgotten where Pavuvu is," came a reply. "God couldn't forget because he made everything." "Then I bet he wishes he could forget he made Pavuvu.

The day before yesterday, as I was calmly reading ... I saw a reduced vision of my son Yuri's face, but dead, in a horizontal position, his eyes closed.

The gingham dog went "Bow-wow-wow!"And the calico cat replied "Mee-ow!"The air was littered, an hour or so,With bits of gingham and calico.

Apart from the before, the now has little meaning. The now is only a thin slice of who I am; isolated from the rich deposits of before, it cannot be understood.

When we read more books, look at more pictures, listen to more music, than we can possibly absorb the result of such gluttony is not a cultured mind but a consuming one; what it reads, looks at, listens to, is immediately forgotten, leaving no more traces behind it than yesterday's newspaper.'12

I enter a room now not wondering what I am going to do or say, but what the risen Christ has already done, already said. I come in on a story that is in progress, something that is resurrection, already going on. Sometimes I can clarify a word, sharpen a feeling, help recover an essential piece of memory, but always dealing with what the risen Christ has already set in motion, already brought into being.

What we require is obedience—the strength to stand and the willingness to leap, and the sense to know when to do which. Which is exactly what we get when an accurate memory of God's ways is combined with a lively hope in his promises.

It announces the existence of a people who assemble to worship God and disperse to live to God's glory, whose lives are bordered on one side by a memory of God's acts and the other by hope in God's promises, and who along with whatever else is happening are able to say, at the center, "We are one happy people.

There is no present or future-only the past, happening over and over again-now.

The dead! Why can't the dead die!