Quotes About Memory

Our minds and souls contain volumes inscribed by our experiences and emotions; each individual's consciousness is a collection of memories we've cataloged and stored inside us, a private library of a life lived.

Good quote: Lee was thirty-nine, still what we would consider a fairly young man, but for the dog-for all dogs- time dashes forward at a speed we humans can hardly perceive, until the day we realize that the puppy is no longer a puppy and has outpaced us. And yet a part of us lags behind, still seeing that old dog as a young dog even when he is standing at life's finish line.(less)

The air she couldn't breathe was scorched, smelled like incense and tobacco, and the atmosphere was charged with an electric buzz of grace which, once you've experienced it, you will never forget.

Storytelling began as a way for humans to relay information, from where to find food sources to the benefits of familial bonding, because fictional stories were the easiest way to memorize and communicate a complete set of information. We remember information best when it is delivered in the form of a plot, which is called 'semantic memory.' Stories still serve a definitive purpose and the stronger the purpose, the clearer the story. Fire Up Your Writing Brain

I photograph you every morning In a cruel attempt to capture A formal souvenir of what I love

Occasionally, I have to think like myself to remember where I put something.

On Photography "Photography does not create eternity, as art does; it embalms time, rescuing it simply from its proper corruption

To take a photograph is to participate in another person's mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.

A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family and, often, is all that remains of it.

All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person's (or thing's) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time's relentless melt.

Only memory cannot be burned.

All we women have to give you is memory. Everything we washed is there. Everything we cooked. Everything we said. What we felt we might keep to ourselves, unless someone wrote it down.

I did not understand, taking those pictures, that history must be collected while the subject exists. If not, what goes unrecorded can fill an ocean.

It's like trying to remember a dream," I said. "It's in me somewhere." "I wish I were in you somewhere," he said. To my surprise, I was a little disappointed. Too easy, I thought. "Where are you instead?

You know," she said dreamily, "I can remember every man I ever fucked by the way he liked to do it. Not the way I liked to do it.

You know, he said when I opened the door to get out of the car, I can remember almost every murder I ever worked on. I dream about them. It's all in my head. And sometimes something just clicks. Sometimes you got it. It's like with a broad. Sometimes you just know. Know what? I asked. If it's a fit, he said.

It's like trying to remember a dream," I said. "It's in me somewhere.

I do not remember too much now. Certain things. Certain images. All sorts of irrational, irrational because nonsensically inappropriate, pieces of information stream through my head, as if my unconscious were bombarding me with words and phrases, an enemy agent subverting a radio broadcast.

Sometimes when I am not expecting it, when I let down my guard for a moment, allowing the thousands, the millions of little synapses in my head to work their will, conveying to me just what it is that I cannot bear to know, cannot bear to be known, I do remember.

I think it may have something to do with something I heard when I was a kid. Something I think I heard. Actually, I know, know for a fact, that I heard something.

I think memories are like dreams. Not reliable proof of anything. I can't prove a memory any more than I can prove a dream.

The trees have a look of finding themselves in the wrong place, perhaps because they remember the river moving muddily behind the apple trees.

Nh?ng thà nói v? nh?ng ng??i ch?t ?? h? s?ng thêm m?t chút còn h?n là ?? h? ch?t m?i ngày thêm m?t chút. M?i l?n ta nh?c ??n k? ni?m nào ?ó, ta làm h? s?ng l?i m?t chút, dù ch? b?ng m?t gi?t n??c m?t.

You don't forget the face of the person who was your last hope.