Quotes About Memory

Most folks remember who they used to be, but they got no idea who they are right now.

I have forgotten my mask, and my face was int it.

Stirred...the fur-toothed graves of young boys...a thousand slain in the time it would take to do love with a pretty girl or think of a new God.

My heavy heart has gone this way before.

You are still in love with her. No. But I think I'm in love a little with the memory of her.

And they had folded his brother's hands across his suited chest, as if he would be preserved in this sanguine pose forever, but only the heavy callouses visible at the sides of his hands seemed real. It was only the callouses that appeared to be familiar and believable.

That was on a night in August. Dad Lewis died early that morning and the young girl Alice from next door got lost in the evening and then found her way home in the dark by the streetlights of town and so returned to the people who loved her. And in the fall the days turned cold and the leaves dropped off the trees and in the winter the wind blew from the mountains and out on the high plains of Holt County there were overnight storms and three-day blizzards.

Memory is a fickle thing, a flickering light in a darkroom of possibilities.

Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.

No generation can escape history.

History gets reinterpreted as time goes on. Many times, the participants are lost in the retelling of the story.

It was designed to have an impact on the stalemate over Mutually Assured Destruction with the Soviet Union. Us reaching the moon convinced Gorbachev and other leaders that the Soviet Union couldn't compete with the U.S., so they revised their agenda. But people have short memories.

Though you have sailed no farther from me Than a quiet bay Beyond a point of cedars, Yet you have been as far away As death.

Only by remembering you, O east of my west, Can I make my lovers real to me, And only by forgetting you Can I find my truest solitude Strange and unknown to me.

How my memory treasures every sweet stray moment of our past — handclasp, kiss and heart-beat, the passion of those dear unfathomable eyes, the rustle of garments, the gliding steps and lingering farewells!

Grief is fantastical, and loves the dead, And the apparel of the grave.

Joy's recollection is no longer joy, While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.

And history with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page.

The sadness inherent in any memory comes from the fact that its object is forgetting.

A memory is a luminous miniature, like the hologram of the princess, in that movie, that the faithful robot carried in his circuits from galaxy to galaxy. The sadness inherent in any memory comes from the fact that its object is forgetting. All movement, the great horizon, the journey, is a spasm of forgetting, which bends in the bubble of memory. Memory is always portable, it is always in the hands of a wandering automaton.

La tristeza inherente al recuerdo proviene de que su objeto es el olvido.

Pero no, no viene. Supongo que es porque estoy tratando de recordar, y la clave está en no tratar, olvidarse. Olvidarse para recordar. Tendré que esperar un rato, pensando en otra cosa, y entonces sí volverá, claro y entero, acompañado de una sonrisa, o una risita secreta, disipado ese pequeño vacío y restituida la integridad de los hechos.

A Hibernian sage once wrote that there are three things a man never forgets: The girl of his early youth, a devoted teacher, and a great horse.

Body, remember not only how much you were loved,not only the beds you lay on,but also those desires glowing openlyin eyes that looked at you,trembling for you in voices.