Quotes About Memory

things are so easily lost. things just can't be kept forever. I

there is of course madness and terror too in knowing that some part of you wound up like a clock can never be wound again once it stops.

Once she had been a little girl, someday she would be dead, but now she was showing me her upper legs.

Se eu nunca ver você de novo Eu sempre vou levar você dentro fora na ponta dos meus dedos e nas bordas do meu cérebro e em centros centros do que eu sou do que restou.

in the most decent sometimes sun there is the softsmoke feeling from urns and the canned sound of old battleplanes and if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge you'll find dirt, maybe even earth. and if you look out the window there will be the day, and as you get older you'll keep looking keep looking sucking your tongue in a little ah ah no no maybe some do it naturally some obscenely everywhere.

According to the latest scientific study it takes 325 years for the last brain cell to pop. Now I realize that most of the girls I met in bars and brought home with me were lying about their age.

I remember all the faces and the football heroes, and everything has meaning, and an editor writes me, you are good but you are too emotional

She had an incredible sweetness that touched us, and a gentle soul that blazed. Now that she's gone, we're still reaching for the glow - willing to grab what light we can." - Charles Casillo

Here lies she who never lied; Whose skill often has been tried: Her prophecies shall still survive, And ever keep her name alive.

Folks double my age and older often run down a conversation tracking a vanishing world that will, with the passing of their memory, vanish entirely.

I had also, during many years, followed a golden rule, namely that whenever published fact, a new observation of thought came across me, which was opposed to my general results, to make a memorandum of it without fail and at once; for I had found by experience that such facts and thoughts were far more apt to escape from the memory than favourable ones.

After a time, though, Inman found that he had left the book and was simply forming the topography of home in his head. Cold Mountain, all its ridges and coves and watercourses. Pigeon River, Little East Fork, Sorrell Cove, Deep Gap, Fire Scald Ridge. He knew their names and said them to himself like the words of spells and incantations to ward off the things one fears most.

she claimed it's a sign of God's mercy that He won't let us remember the reddest details of pain. He knows the parts we can't bear and won't let our minds render them again. In time, from disuse, they pale away. At least such was her thinking. God lays the unbearable on you and then takes some back.

Ada wondered about his hundreds of tunes. Where were they now and where might they go if he died.

Even on the worst days, details of her old life seemed like a museum exhibition, artifacts to study and understand in historical context.

We all reach a point where we would like to draw a line across time and declare everything on the far side null. Shed our past life like a pair of wet and muddy trousers, just roll their heavy clinging fabric down our legs and step away. We also reach a point where we would give the rest of our withering days for the month of July in our seventeenth year. But no thread of Ariadne exists to lead us back there.

Remembering doesn't change anything—it will always have happened. But forgetting won't erase it either.

If you mean slaves, you only remember what they allowed you to remember. Even if Davis Bend was really as humane as you believe, they kept their misery to themselves, kept it a mystery to you. I promise that's true. Think of it as a great gift, a mark of affection. Their protection of your memory.

Words, when they've been captured and imprisoned on paper, become a barrier against the world, one best left unerected. Everything that happens is fluid, changeable. After they've passed, events are only as your memory makes them, and they shift shapes over time. Writing a thing down fixes it in place as surely as a rattlesnake skin strippd from the meat and stretched and tacked to a barn wall. Every bit as stationary, and every bit as false to the original thing. Flat and still and harmless.

Her need to shape memory into history.

The instant passed so fast, and when that happens, it goes for good and all you have is a slow lifetime to speculate on revisions.

It is a frightful thing to drop out of one's place in the world and never find it again. I try very hard to keep my memory green and thus by sympathy live anew, or if not anew, aright, which is more to the point, much more.

When time is remote enough nobody amounts to much.

In her heart, though, she wondered, Is anything remembered forever?