Quotes About Memory

Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

Her death the dividing mark: Before and After.

though some of those casual remarks and private jokes assumed a horrific significance much later. Towards the end of that term, for instance, Bunny had a maddening habit of breaking out into choruses of "The Farmer in the Dell"; I found it merely annoying and could not understand the violent agitation to which it provoked the rest of them: not knowing then, as I do now, that it must have chilled them all to the bone.

strange to find that the present contained such a bright shard of the living past, damaged and eroded but not destroyed.

I soffitti rimandavano un eco spettrale, che conferiva a quella disperata ilarità la qualità di un ricordo sin dal momento in cui l'ascoltavo, ricordi di cose che non avevo mai conosciuto.

I was very taken with the idea that a person might notice in passing some bewitching stranger and remember her for the rest of his life.

I could hardly remember that the world had ever been anything but dead.

Raviv and Avi, and—my favorite—a Russian Jew named Grisha. (" 'Russian Jew' contradiction in terms," he explained, in a lavish plume of menthol smoke. "To Russian mind anyway. Since 'Jew' to antisemite mind is not the same as true Russian—Russia is notorious of this fact.") Grisha had been born in Sevastopol, which he claimed to remember ("black water

Every new event - everything I did for the rest of my life - would only separate us more and more: days she was no longer a part of, an ever-growing distance between us. Every single day for the rest of my life, she would only be further away.

But walking through it all was one thing; walking away, unfortunately, has proved to be quite another, and though once I thought I had left that ravine forever on an April afternoon long ago, now I am not so sure.

That's odd,' said Henry. 'The first thing I thought of when I tasted that coffee was you.

The ceilings had set off a ghostly echo, giving all that desperate hilarity the quality of a memory even as I sat listening to it, memories of things I'd never known.

And yet I thought of him almost every day. The Russian novels I had to read for school reminded me of him; Russian novels, and seven pillars of wisdom, and so too the Lower East Side—tattoo parlors and pierogi shops, pot in the air, old polish ladies swaying side to side with grocery bags and kids smoking in the doorways of bars along Second Avenue.

it seemed that the whole past was redefined and brought into focus by this moment

Ma il pensiero di lei mi affliggeva al punto che non riuscivo a dimenticarla più di quanto avrei potuto dimenticare un mal di denti.

Neither can I." "What are you going to wear?" That was a good question. "I don't know." "I've got an idea. Remember that pink ruffled dress I got for my cousin's wedding?

They are not dead who live in lives they leave behind. In those whom they have blessed they live a life again.

Lincoln replied that he was more than willing to die, but that he had "done nothing to make any human being remember that he had lived, and that to connect his name with the events transpiring in his day and generation and so impress himself upon them as to link his name with something that would redound to the interest of his fellow man was what he desired to live for.

In the age-old debate about whether leadership traits are innate or developed, memory—the ease and capacity with which the mind stores information—is generally considered an inborn trait.

When I read aloud," Lincoln later explained, "two senses catch the idea: first, I see what I read; second, I hear it, and therefore I remember it better.

What fired in Lincoln this furious and fertile time of self-improvement? The answer lay in his readiness to gaze in the mirror and soberly scrutinize himself. Taking stock, he found himself wanting. From the beginning, young Lincoln aspired to nothing less than to inscribe his name into the book of communal memory.

To see memory as the essence of life came naturally to Lincoln," Robert Bruce observes, for he was a man who "seemed to live most intensely through the process of thought, the expression of thought, and the exchange of thought with others.

There is now nothing left for me except to try to so live as not to dishonor the memory of those I loved who have gone before me.

When he came upon a passage that Struck him, he would write it down on boards if he had no paper & keep it there until he did get paper," she recalled, "and then he would rewrite it" and keep it in a scrapbook so that he could preserve it.