Quotes About Memory

the great force was gone, the strength lost forever, now, that filled his rippling limbs in the old days.

let not forgetfulness take you, after you are released from the kindly sweet slumber.

what's out of sight, is out of mind

If I had to pinpoint my mother's location, I'd say she's nowhere and everywhere at the same time. She's a foggy memory I can't quite bring into focus and a gentle spirit that infuses all my days. She hovers in the background of my life now, suspended, shapeless, like familiar air.

A person was present your entire life, and then one day she disappeared and never came back. It resisted belief.

there is no new experience in life. something may happen to you that you think has never happened before, that you think is brand new, but you are mistaken. you have only to see or smell or hear or feel a certain something and you will discover that this experience you thought was new has happened before.

We have everywhere an absence of memory. Architects sometimes talk of building with context and continuity in mind, religious leaders call it tradition, social workers say it's a sense of community, but it is memory we have banished from our cities. We have speed and power, but no place. Travel, but no destination. Convenience, but no ease.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

The stories of childhood leave an indelible impression, and their author always has a niche in the temple of memory from which the image is never cast out to be thrown on the rubbish heap of things that are outgrown and outlived.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in tome to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

My viewpoint, in telling the history of the United States, is different: that we must not accept the memory of states as our own. Nations are not communities and never have been.

in telling the history of the United States, is different: that we must not accept the memory of states as our own. Nations are not communities and never have been.

Norris met another survivor on board who told him that he had been bringing home a prized dog on the Titanic and had gone to the kennels and released all the dogs a half hour before the ship went under. Norris described to him how when he was swimming away from the sinking liner he had spied the black face of a French bulldog in the water.

My father talks about people dying on coffin ships going to America and my mother talks about people dying on trains going to Poland. My father says our people died in the famine and my mother says those who died under the Nazis are our people, too. Everybody has things they can't forget.

There was absolutely no choice but to cut her adrift and hope her memory was fucked.

I still suffer hate and pain in my heart every time I see the word Duke on a TV screen, and that rotten Thing happened nine years ago when that Swine Christian Laettner hit that impossible last-second shot against Kentucky. I still have a Memory Block about it -- but as I recall it was in the East Regional final that is still known as the Best basketball game ever played. Geez, it Was and remains the Worst Shock I've experienced in my Life.

Each man's memory is his own private literature

Even if you are alive somewhere, the absence of the other person who used to be there beside you obliterates your presence. Everything in the room, even the stars in the sky, can disappear in a second, changing one scene for another, just like in a dream.

Es imposible retroceder en el tiempo, no debo mirar hacia atrás, sin embargo no puedo dejar de hacerlo, es una obsesión.

He remembers night, sleep, the bed, their shared comas, A certain source of fondness in the night. (She saw, no, expected, a dawn from every light. Such was her fault)

They talk, you know, the dead. Not in words, of course; I am not losing my sanity. They talk in the wind and the rain, in the way the light falls on ruined buildings and dilapidated stone walls.

There is now nothing which more brings home to me the passage of the years than to meet a grown man who does not recall, as his strongest memory, the horror that the news produced

I cannot remember a single painting, although I do remember trying hard to be deeply impressed by them at the time.

We are committed to the past as we need and want it to be; we are no longer interested in the past as it was.