Quotes About Memory

To put it crudely, 'The Act of Killing' would blast open the space for the more delicate film, 'The Look of Silence,' to do its work.

Mimicking the intricacies of the human brain, a neuro-inspired computer would work in a fashion similar to the way neurons and synapses communicate. It could potentially learn or develop memory.

Our study showed that the false memory and the genuine memory are based on very similar, almost identical, brain mechanisms. It is difficult for the false memory bearer to distinguish between them.

Wes Anderson grew up in Houston, and he and I talk about Manhattan in similar ways, as a kind of fantasy world.

Microchimeric sharing means that, even if the mother loses a child, she'll have a small memento of him or her secreted away inside her. Similarly, a bit of our mothers live on in all of us no matter how long ago Mom died.

You'll never get mixed up if you simply tell the truth. Then you don't have to remember what you have said, and you never forget what you have said.

Availability heuristic: people estimate the probability of an event or the frequency of a kind of thing by the ease with which instances come to mind.

The Muses were nine sisters, daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, which means memory. Their names are Clio, Erato, Thalia, Terpsichore, Calliope, Polyhymnia, Euterpe, Melpomene, and Urania. Their job is to inspire artists.

I don't need to read nothing,' said the New Zealander. 'I was there.

In Heaven you forget everything. In Hell they make you remember.

The single dinner plate, the silent house, the tumbler in the sink--this was how it would be if he lost her. His mother had gone quickly, from liver cancer, the mass discovered too late. He thought of his father alone in his condo, crossing off days on the calendar like a prisoner. He'd survived her by thirteen years, yet every time Henry saw him, he quoted her as if they'd just spoken. Henry could picture himself doing the same to the children. He already lived too much in his memory.

It's true what the natives say. Every time someone takes your picture, the camera steals a little bit of your soul." "That explains Bette Davis.

while she discounted his adoration of her beauty—based, as it was, on a much younger woman—she also relied on it, and as time passed she was grateful for the restorative powers of his memory. No one else saw her the way he did. He knew the eighteenyear-old lifeguard she used to be, and the fashionable grad student, the coltish young mother.

I had this sudden awareness,' she continues, 'of how the moments of our lives go out of existence before we're conscious of having lived them. It's only a relatively few moments that we get to keep and carry with us for the rest of our lives. Those moments are our lives. Or maybe it's more like those moments are the dots in what we call our lives, or the lines we draw between them, connecting them into imaginary pictures of ourselves.

No matter how often he strips the past from her body, she finds a way to wear it again.

People have an amazing capacity to remember pictures. After being shown 10,000 photographs just once they can correctly recognize almost all of them a week later. This is in marked contrast to the very poor memory for isolated words.

The Palestinians try hard to forget when they should remember. The Israelis try hard to remember when they should forget. The Palestinians refuse to be victims. The Israelis make sure that they remain the only victims.

When it comes to Jews, you have a two-thousand-year memory, but when it comes to us Palestinians, you have a sixty-year amnesia.

So much of the past in encapsulated in the odds and ends. Most of us discard more information about ourselves than we ever care to preserve. Our recollection of the past is not simply distorted by our faulty perception of events remembered but skewed by those forgotten. The memory is like twin orbiting stars, one visible, one dark, the trajectory of what's evident forever affected by the gravity of what's concealed.

Memory is subject to a filtering process that we don't always recognize and can't always control. We remember what we can bear and we block what we cannot.

He opened his coat to reveal his badge, but I confess I didn't peer closely enough to commit the number to memory. This

its embrace. The sky still claims them and we who honor them will hold them dear from this day forward.

Kim Bass, Receptionist, was nowhere to be seen. This was fortunate, as I was so irritated with the way she'd treated me, I might have bitten her on the arm. I'd been a biter as a kid and I can still remember the feel of flesh between my teeth. It's like biting a rubber bathing cap, in case you're curious.

I am still able to recite long portions of Alfred Noyes's "The Highwayman" at the slightest provocation.