Quotes About Memory

There was not a scrap of tangible evidence to show that he had spent the most wonderful year of his life with her. Which only increased his desire to remain faithful to her.

He had spent seven years of his life with Tereza, and now he realized that those years were more attractive in retrospect than they were when he was living them.

She was amazed at the number of years she had spent pursuing one lost moment.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful.

She refused at first, saying it would make a mockery of their love. She loved him too much to admit that what she thought of as unforgettable could ever be forgotten. Finally, of course, she did as he asked, but without enthusiasm. The notebooks showed it: they had many empty pages, and the entries were fragmentary.

In existential mathematics that experience takes the form of two basic equations: The degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory; the degree of speed is directly proportional to the intensity of forgetting.

Love begins with a metaphor. Love begins at a point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory.

she had experienced something beautiful, and he had failed to experience it with her. The two ways in which their memories reacted to the evening storm sharply delimit love and non-love.

Nostalgia seems something like the pain of ignorance, of not knowing. You are far away, and I don't know what has become of you. My country is far away, and I don't know what is happening there.

Con ello no quiero decir que haya dejado de amarla, que la haya olvidado, que su recuero haya empalidecido; al contrario; permanece dentro de mí constantemente como una callada nostalgia; la anhelo como se anhela algo que se ha perdido definitivamente.

What he did succeed in seeing behind him in his mind's eye was tiny, compressed like a closed accordion.

Indeed, all he remembers are situations that make him displeased with himself.

Not long ago, I caught myself experiencing a most incredible sensation. Leafing through a book on Hitler, I was touched by some of his portraits: they reminded me of my childhood. I grew up during the war; several members of my family perished in Hitler's concentration camps; but what were their deaths compared with the memories of a lost period in my life, a period that would never return?

Narodi se likvidiraju tako da im se najprije oduzme sje?anje. Unište im se knjige, obrazovanje, povijest. Netko drugi im napiše druge knjige, da im drugo obrazovanje i izmisli drugu povijest. I narod onda postupno po?ne zaboravljati što je bio i što je sada, a svijet oko njega to zaboravi još mnogo brže.

Plus vaste est le temps que nous avons laissé derrière nous, plus irrésistible est la voix qui nous invite au retour

The life we've left behind us has a bad habit of stepping out of the shadows, of bringing complaints to us, of taking us to court.

Le degré de lenteur est directement proportionnel à l'intensité de la mémoire ; le degré de la vitesse est directement proportionnel à l'intensité de l'oubli.

He goes on reading, and remembers nothing. So what has this stranger come to tell him? To remind him that he used to live here under Josef's name?

The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.

It was the incommunicable scent of this country, its intangible essence, that she had brought along with her to France.

È questa la cosa spaventosa: il passato di cui ricordiamo è senza tempo. Impossibile rivivere un amore come rileggendo un libro o rivedendo un film

Am spus înainte c? metaforele sunt periculoase. Iar dragostea începe cu o metafor?. Altfel spus: dragostea începe în clipa în care o femeie se înscrie cu un cuvânt în memoria noastr? poetic?.

The brain appears to possess a special area which we might call poetic memory and which records everything that charms or touches us, that makes our lives beautiful. From the time he met Tereza, no woman had the right to leave the slightest impression on that part of his brain.

Raised as we are on the mythology of the Old Testament, we might say that an idyll is an image that has remained with us like a memory of Paradise: life in Paradise was not like following a straight line to the unknown; it was not an adventure. It moved in a circle among known objects. Its monotony bred happiness, not boredom.