Quotes About Memory

rummaging furiously in a mind which appeared to have entirely lost its card index....

Those cigarettes were beckoning. Come to us, they said. You remember us. I did remember them. My love affair with tobacco had been long and passionate.

She attributed this to having got drunk for the first time at the age of fifteen at a dormy feast on cheap sweet sherry; the memory of that hangover would have caused a girl with less courage to swear off alcohol for life.

You'd think that would have been forgotten long ago. But no, no sooner has a little grass grown over it than some clumsy camel comes along and rakes it all up again." Caroline giggled. She was probably imagining Aunt Glenda as a camel. "This is not a TV series, Maddy," said Lady Arista sharply. "Thank goodness, no, it isn't," said Great-aunt Maddy. "If it were, I'd have lost track of the plot ages ago.

Unable are the Loved to die, For Love is Immortality … EMILY DICKINSON

When you die, the energy that kept you alive filters into the people you loved. Did you know that? It's like a fire you've tended all your life, and the sparks are all scattered into the wind.... That's why we survive as long as we do, because the people who loved us keep us going.

I stopped and asked him if he was all right, and he said he was tired of remembering everything he wanted to forget and forgetting everything he wanted to remember.

The living carry us inside them like pearls. We survive only so long as they remember us.

I'm still living it now, every day, living it out in my mind - following the ups and downs, walking the pathways, reliving the moments of our Moonlight World... It's a day that never dies.

I might have taken a little more time, I might have allowed myself a longer goodbye.. soaking up every little detail until the memory was firmly lodged in my mind forever. But that's not how it works is it? And maybe it's better that way. Because some things are never meant to be anything more than a moment. And that was one of them. -Cait

Cuál es la diferencia entre carne complicada y metal complicado? ¿Qué es una vida? ¿Qué hace una vida? ¿La historia? ¿El tiempo? ¿Los recuerdos? ¿Los sentidos? ¿La forma en que ves las cosas? ¿Lo que ves? ¿Lo que escuchas? ¿Cómo te sientes? ¿Cómo haces cualquier cosa? ¿Cómo respiras? ¿Cómo creces? ¿Cómo piensas?

In the beginning was the word, and primitive societies venerated poets second only to their leaders. A poet had the power to name and so to control; he was, literally, the living memory of a group or tribe who would perpetuate their history in song; his inspiration was god given and he was in effect a medium.

If you want to stop someone from remembering something, the key is to use distraction.

The problem with history is that every story has multiple witnesses, but no witness ever has the entire truth.

He couldn't help but give in to the occasional temptation to replay past events in his mind, altering them, changing them from cruel to comfortable, from sad to happy, from unfair to accommodating. Anything was possible in his imagination. Any ending. If only thinking it could make it so.

Each life is the sum total of its moments.

Memories are also tainted by lies.

The human brain has a mechanism for dealing with data overload. It forgets. If indeed we're on a path to building machines that think like us, how ironic if the next great invention in computer memory turns out to be forgetting.

Irish Alzheimer's, a disease where everything is forgotten except a grudge.

It never ceased to cause him wonder, that here had been a living person and now she was gone, fading away again, the city waking up without her as if she'd never been there. It was an incredible thing, beyond comprehension, as incredible as being there in the first place.

I wondered if this was a sign that, whatever happened this summer, I'd be the one with a scar.

To lose someone close to you is to enter an experience no amount of forethought or hindsight can free you from. You must live through grief. You cannot outsmart it, nor think through the fact of someone's being gone, and forever. You must survive the sorrow.

Like grass in rain, my dead grow at an amazing rate.

How I wish I could leave or forget all my dead.