Quotes About Memory

His mind had forgotten the pathway to his voice.

As happens with all miracles, once life goes on, those who believe retell them with wonder. Those who do not, do not.

In time I came to view that event the way you view a faded vacation photo. It's just someplace you went a long time ago.

Four years? She'd been gone from this world as long as she'd been in it.

O passado esquecido às vezes me surpreende com impressões inesperadas, momentos dos quais mal me lembrava, até eles me revisitarem.

ele havia determinado que sentir falta de alguém também era, de certa forma, sentir sua presença.

The ruins proclaim the building was beautiful.

I did not grow up in poverty. But I did grow up with a poor boy's sense of longing, in my case not for what my family had never had, but for what we had had and lost.

Writers and readers seek a solution to the problem that time passes, that those who have gone are gone and those who will go, which is to say every one of us, will go. For there was a moment when anything was possible. And there will be a moment when nothing is possible. But in between we can create.

He was drawn to people from their country, both in the labor camp and online. It seemed to Nadia that the farther they moved from the city of their birth, through space and through time, the more he sought to strengthen his connection to it, tying ropes to the air of an era that for her was unambiguously gone.

a beautiful memory one knows has already commenced to fade. •

and in any case Nadia had taken one look at Saeed's father and felt him like a father, for he was so gentle, and evoked in her a protective caring, as if for one's own child, or for a puppy, or for a beautiful memory one knows has already commenced to fade.

they felt the dead daily, hourly, as they lived their lives, and their feeling of the dead was important to them, an important part of what made up their particular way of living, and not to be hidden from, for it could not be hidden from, it could not be hidden from at all.

and in any case Nadia had taken one look at Saeed's father and felt him like a father, for he was so gentle, and evoked in her a protective caring, as if for one's own child, or for a puppy, or for a beautiful memory one know has already commenced to fade.

He preferred to abide, in a sense, in the past, for the past offered more to him.

He was drawn to people from their country, both in the labour camp and online. It seemed to Nadia that the further they moved from the city of their birth, through space and through time, the more he sought to strengthen his connection to it, tying ropes to the air of an era that for her was unambiguously gone.

I love it when you talk about where you come from," she said, slipping her arm through mine, "you become so alive.

Here, in the heady bouquet of nature's pantry, your father sniffs mortality.

I knew I would hate my best memory because it would prove that people could fake love or that love could end or worst of all, love was not powerful enough to change a life.

You know, one meets so many people, the years pass and pass, but there are certain times, certain people— . . . They take up room. So much room. I was married to Howard for twenty-eight years and yet he made only a piddling dent in my memory. A little nick. But certain others, they move in and make themselves at home and start flapping their arms in the story you make of your life. They have a wingspan. . . .

She died that evening and left me, in Louise fashion, sitting in ten kinds of dark.

I drew out the Ham, lingered on the me, and softened the clip of the rick. I repeated the word, and with every slow joining of its three syllables, the fizzy taste of sweet licorice with a mild chaser of wood smoke flooded my mouth. A phantom swig of Dr. Pepper.

When I heard or said the word Kelly, I tasted canned peaches, delicious and candy-sweet. This, however, was the first time I had ever heard anyone say Powell. The word was a raw onion, a playground bully with sharp elbows shoving all flavors aside. Luckily for our friendship, little girls didn't often call each other by their full names.

Years of alcohol can do that to a person, make him dead but not departed, make him indelible to those who have had the misfortune of sharing his name.