Quotes About Memory

The rest of the ride was a warm, fuzzy haze, her only memory arriving at the hospital and Zack's head appearing above hers when they unloaded her stretcher from the ambulance. He'd been grim and worried and lines of strain were evident in his face. She'd given him a goofy smile and said, Don't be sad, Zack. I'm a Valkyrie.

Inside the envelope with the letter was a little Princess Leia action figure USB flash drive. (they make these?) For me to store my novel on, since he was right-I never back up my computer's hard drive. The sight of it-it's Princess Leia in her Hoth outfit, my favorite of her costumes (how had he remembered?) brought tears to my eyes.

Tell me what game Steph Landry and I used to play in the big dirt pile they made while they were digging my family's pool, back when we were both seven, or I'll know you're an alien replacement and you've got the real Steph up in your mother ship!" I glared at him. "G.I. Joe meets Spelunker Barbie," I said. "And stop being so ridiculous. We have to go. We're going to end up at a bad table for lunch.

It's just that the times I'm wrong don't register in your memory with as much clarity as the times I'm right.

The term "forgive and forget" doesn't make sense to me. Forgiving does allow us to stop dwelling on an issue, which isn't always healthy. But if we forget, we don't learn from our mistakes.

I was dead, and I hadn't even been able to attend my own funeral.

But I love him. You know it. You can't ask me to just sit back and let Paul do this. If he succeeds I won't even remember having met Jesse. Right, my dad said reasonably. So it won't hurt. It will, I insisted, It will hurt, Dad. Because deep down I'll know. I'll know there was someone… someone I was supposed to have met. Only I'll never meet him. I'll go through my whole life waiting for him to come along, only he never will. What kind of life is that, Dad, huh? What kind of life is that?

On the bed, Eugenides stirred restlessly. Upset at the sight of blood? he said. Not my wife, Ornon. Your blood, the ambassador pointed out. Eugenides glanced at the hook on his arm and conceded the point. Yes, he said. He seemed lost in memory. The room was quiet.

It is why I hope that if I make it to eighty-something I have the good sense not to pull out those old CDs. My heart, by then, surely would not be able to keep from imploding. My heart, back then, stayed in one piece only because, as bursting with anticipation as it was, it had not yet been strained by nostalgia. It had not yet figured out that life is mostly an exercise in being something other than what we used to be while remaining fundamentally - and sometimes maddeningly - who we are.

What had happened still seemed implausible. A person was present your entire life, and then one day she disappeared and never came back. It resisted belief.

When we are learning the world, we know things we cannot say how we know. When we are relearning the world in the aftermath of a loss, we feel things we had almost forgotten, old things, beneath the seat of reason.

Reading problems may stem from dysfunctions of phonologic or phonemic awareness, deficient analysis or recognition of visual patterns, active working memory limitations, and/or reduced lexical access. The latter might be part of a much broader memory retrieval or language dysfunction.

You realize that if he doesn't know who you are, he won't be able to remember who you were.

Even now, remembering the sound of his voice chastens every word I say.

He didn't remember because he'd seen thousands of little fish hundreds of times, and because it didn't mean to him what it had to me.

I remembered my father's speech about what Jack was capable of and wasn't; he'd said, IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW MUCH JACK LOVES YOU. I thought about all the girls he'd stopped loving; it was like he had a timer, and at a certain point it buzzed.

Ce Français avec qui je sortais. - Je l'avais oublié, dit-elle. Comment il s'appelait, déjà ? - Enfoiré, dis-je. - Exact.

Do you ever sense a little silver sliver of sadness around your happiest memories? I'm not sure I know what you mean... I do. There's something about remembering that just isn't the same as the real thing. No matter how happy it makes you feel. When you remember something, you have to recognize that the moment will never happen again.

She still loved him, she would always love him, but it was the kind of love that was muted, safely seen through the rear-view window, like a place you used to call home but no longer visited. There would always be a wound there, but the healing had begun.

He squeezed her hand one last time. Then Jack was gone and she was alone.

Once the bond was sealed, it could not be broken for this cycle. Schuyler would become nothing more than a distant memory.

Jane had a sweet, lovely laugh, and hours later Carlos discovered he was still thinking about it.

In other words, time was a kind of palimpsest, traces of the past peeking through the present, only to be written over in the future again.

Funny thing, losing your virginity; it sounded like she'd misplaced it somewhere, like she lost it at the mall, or dropped it on the street.