Quotes About Memory

When the towers again twin-tickle the clouds, I offer to walk again, to be the expression of the builder's collective voice. Together, we will rejoice in an aerial song of victory. I will carry my life across the wire, as your life, as all our lives, past, present, and future -the lives lost, the lives welcomed since. we can overcome.

Through thickest gloom look back, immortal shade, On that confusion which thy death has made.

The healing process can only truly begin when we are willing to remember.

I am told many children block out the memory of trauma. In fact, the healing process can only truly begin when we are willing to remember.

I am Ayo. Joy. I choose to remember.

My nose remembers more than my eyes. The sharp oily smell of eucalyptus combines with afternoon dust from the hockey field. But my heart feels the different then and now.

Il susino è sfiorito. Chioma verde di foglioline giovani. Nessuno adesso potrebbe sospettare la bellezza mozzafiato di prima. Così per tante donne vecchie che per pochi giorni soltanto sono state belle.

Io guardo in questi ragazzi il riso dei loro morti quando venivano in chiesa, e, cantando, credevano di essere vivi per sempre. Ma gli anni spariti nel paese non sono mai trascorsi. Questa è una loro alba, e noi, noi siamo i morti.

Yo soy una fuerza del pasado

Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You never can tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.

The essence of memory is not in the storage of information, but in the emotions we hold, in the meaning we give to our recollections, in relationships that, because we remember them, stay alive. The friends of my childhood, the pain of a goodbye, the meeting with a special person, a wonderful September afternoon, and so forth—all these are not merely items I keep in an archive. They are vital ingredients of my history.

Our relation to books is a shadowy space haunted by the ghosts of memory, and the real value of books lies in their ability to conjure these specters.

in which, along with Montaigne, we raise the question of whether a book you have read and completely forgotten, and which you have even forgotten you have read, is still a book you have read)

et de son Å"uvre que par le fait de le constituer en personnage mémorable, digne du récit historique, à la

He who receives a benefit should never forget it; he who bestow should never remember it.

The Big Show was over. The public had been satisfied. The programme had been rather heavy, the actors not too bad, and the lions had eaten the trainer. It would be discussed for a day or two more round the family table. And even when it was all forgotten—the band, the fireworks, the resplendent uniforms—there would still remain on the village green the holes of the tent pegs and a circle of sawdust. The rain and the shortness of man's memory would soon wipe out even those.

It takes a good memory to keep up a lie.

When you are old, at evening candlelit,Beside the fire bending to your wool,Read out my verse and murmur, "Ronsard writThis praise for me when I was beautiful."

When we were making 'Toy Story,' my grandmother was very ill, and she knew she was not going to make it. I went back to visit her, and there was a moment during that visit that I had to say goodbye, and I knew I'd never be seeing her again. I looked at her and knew that I was looking at her for the last time.

My mother was a Swede who grew up in Denmark. When I go there, I visit the street where she grew up and look at her house, which is still there, and the snowberry bush, from which she ate some berries and had to have her stomach pumped.

Every time I visit Brisbane, I think, 'This is my childhood.'

If you bury me in a grave, don't ever come visit - because you won't find me there. You'll find me in the books that I've read, the music I've listened to, and the art I've created.

I remember being taken to visit houses by my father, who then tested my powers of observation by expecting me to describe the things I had seen... Unusual furniture always seemed easier to remember than other things.

When I visited Moscow for the first time in 1998, I wandered into the historic Metropol Hotel as a curious tourist simply to ogle the giant painted glass ceiling that hangs over the grand restaurant off the lobby. It was the memory of that short visit that prompted me, some years later, to set 'A Gentleman in Moscow' in the hotel.