Quotes About Memory

Memory is like riding a trail at night with a lighted torch. The torch casts its light only so far, and beyond that is darkness. —Ancient Lakota saying

Some people seem to fade away but then when they are truly gone, it's like they didn't fade away at all.

The future for me is already a thing of the past - You were my first love and you will be my last

Some people seem to fade away but then when they are truly gone, it's like they didn't fade away at all.

An oldtimer is a person who's had many interesting experiences, some of them true.

Years later, in 1989, my family in Chicago was at a Christmas gathering. My sister M.J. was seated next to my mother. Mom's memory was beginning to fade. My mother said, "Is Dad with us?" M.J. said, "No, Mom, Dad died a few months ago." Mom said, "There were times I could have killed him." Then there was a pause and Mom said, "I didn't, did I?" with a laugh.

After Nixon resigned in 1974, he engaged in a very aggressive war with history, attempting to wipe out the Watergate stain and memory. Happily, history won, largely because of Nixon's tapes.

Bobbie Ann Mason

Kindle - who needs it, jag har 3000, 35 000 böcker i huvudet eller i flyttkartongerna på vinden.

Nebesa nejsou humánní, ale je asi nÄ›co víc než tato nebesa, soucit a láska, na kterou už jsem zapomenul a zapomnÄ›l.

El cielo no es humano, pero debe haber algo más que el cielo, la compasión y el amor, pero yo he permitido que se borrasen de mi memoria y cayesen en el olvido.

O Céu não é humano, mas talvez exista algo mais do que este Céu, a compaixão e o amor que eu há muito esquecera e apagara da memória.

El cel no és pas humà, però deu haver-hi alguna cosa més que el cel, la compassió i l'amor, però jo he permès que s'esborressin de la memòria i caiguessin en l'oblit.

Dad almost delighted at how the graves had resisted, how they had had to bring caterpillar tractors, how the chains had burst, but in the end they had succeeded, they had to succeed in tearing those old times out of the ground...

Dentro de mil años no quedará nada de cuanto se ha escrito en este siglo. Leerán frases sueltas, huellas de mujeres perdidas, fragmentos de niños inmóviles, tus ojos lentos y verdes simplemente no existirán. Será como la Antología Griega, aún más distante, como una playa en invierno para otro asombro y otra indiferencia.

Maybe age is kinder to us than we think. With my bad eyes, I can't see how bad I look, and with my rotten memory, I have a good excuse for getting out of a lot of stuff.

Memory deficiency got so bad with me, I forgot to repeat a piece of gossip I swore on my Grandmother's Grave never to divulge.

Humes consequently did no dissection to determine exactly where the bullet had gone. In fact, Dr. Finck later said that the autopsy doctors were ordered not to perform a bullet tracking procedure, "but I don't remember by whom."15

My earliest memory of waking up with a melody in my head was, you know, 8, 9, 10. I've always heard kind of melodies in my head. I remember standing under a piano at my grandmother's house, when the keys of the piano were higher than my head and kind of pressing down on the keys, and then hearing one note and then looking for another one to follow it, because you always -- you know, if you're a musician or if you're a songwriter, somehow when you hear one note, you hear another one.

Once we are born, we begin to forget The very reason we cane But you I'm sure I've met Long before the night the stars went out We're meeting up again

Once we are born, we begin to forget The very reason we came But you I'm sure I've met Long before the night the stars went out We're meeting up again.

I have very little memory of my childhood, so as I raise my kids the memories come back in the most bizarre ways. Like you're singing your baby a song, and you don't know why you remember it, but somehow you do. You don't even know the tune, but you sing it anyway and think, How am I singing this song?

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though I remember on several occasions I went as far as the schoolhouse door with one of my young mistresses to carry her books. The picture of several dozen boys and girls in a schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon me, and I had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse and study in this way would be about the same as getting into paradise.

That one individual should awaken in another memories that belong to still a third is an obvious paradox.