Quotes About Memory

Una conciencia tranquila es generalmente el signo de una mala memoria

Une conscience tranquille est généralement le signe d'une mauvaise mémoire

She smelled too. Like a 22 year old girl. He tried to place that smell but he couldn't. It seemed like a mixture of skin lotion and confidence.

To be lost and forgotten-to be abandoned-is a shared and terrible fear, just as our fondest hope, as we grow older, is that we might leave some parts of us behind in the hearts of those we love and in that way live on.

Often, as she leafed through the sticky, plastic-coated pages, spotting herself with a frizzy perm or wearing a loud, printed blouse, she was struck by how long life was, and how much time had passed, and she wished she could go back and apologize to those closest to her, explain that she understood now. Impossible, and yet the urge to return and be a different person never lessened, grew only more acute.

Her address book confirmed it, the pages inhabited equally by the living and the dead....Each name called up raucous dinner parties and gin-and-tonics on sunny patios, lazy Saturday afternoons at the swim club, station wagons filled with noisy boys in polyester baseball uniforms.

Ändå jämrade sig minnet och sade: Riv inte, det är mina hus. Ni får inte slakta Klara! Varför inte, frågade då förnuftet, och minnet svarade: Därför att det är i denna del av världen som du har upplevt de klarvaknaste och mest spännande timmarna i ditt liv. Därför att alla dessa Klaras hus varit kulisser åt dina drömmar, bakgrunder till dina vandringar, vittnen till dina konspirationer.

Behöver man vara rädd för den man har älskat? För jag älskade henne. Jag älskade henne verkligen. Det är sant. Men jag är ju inte rädd. Jag bara saknar henne. Först gjorde jag det inte. Ty inte saknar man det som inte finns. Nu vet jag att hon finns. Hon finns ini mig. Därför att hon älskade mig, finns hon ini mig. Därför skall jag låta henne stanna.

Songs are built by whimsy, faulty memory, and free association.

I spent much of my time painting, and portraits of a dozen lost loves adorned the walls of my home; their cold eyes stared down at me with disdain, their lips forever smiling.

A faint but discomfortable memory of a screaming face surfaced in Shem's mind.

I smiled when I discovered the bruise of a love-flower on his neck-quite a large one, in fact. It was one of those poignantly sad moments; whomever had given in that vigorous caress would never do so again.

This may become a history book, but remember, it is only my history.

He had looked as beautiful as she remembered him, yet he had all but forgotten her.

Our elders wanted to forget the past, and relatively youthful people, like myself, complied with their wishes; we had been trained to fear our history.

The landscape rushed past him, gathering him up, and he was back there, frozen in terror and pain, pleading for mercy, finding none.

Perhaps, by seeing them in the flesh, I would exorcise the ghosts their images had conjured in my mind.

What lived in the room was never far from Daniel's mind. It lurked there, like something he didn't want to to do and had forcibly forgotten, or something to be face in the future that he dreaded. What lived there was the ghost of his former love.

She remembered the flavor of the dreams, the wet stark fear of them, but the images eluded her. For that, she was grateful.

Memories were perhaps sweeter than reality.

I was a pampered plaything, pale and thin; a sickle moon to the memory of Mewt's slaughtered sun king.

A vague memory stirred of a moonlit bathroom and blood, black in the moonlight, pooling on the floor. Jadrin shuddered and the boy opened his eyes. They were the colour of violets.

One moment of lapsed concentration and the tide of years would come crashing in, obliterating everything.

It would be as if I carried a tangible memory of the shaman with me if I travelled with his boy.