Quotes About Memory

Resulta extraño añorar lo jamás tenido, aquello de lo que nunca ha formado parte. Resulta extraño tener una sensación elegíaca acerca de un pasado que en realidad nunca ha conocido

Resulta extraño añorar lo jamás tenido, aquello de lo que nunca ha formado parte. Resulta extraño tener una sensación elíaca acerca de un pasado que en realidad nunca ha conocido

The death cry of that hen imprinted itself on the boy's memory so hauntingly that in 1958 he wrote an impassioned attack on the guillotine. As a result, in part, of that polemic, capital punishment was abolished in France. Who is to say, then, that the hen did not speak?

Photographs is not the same as just name, is more living. Otherwise, why save photographs? (Marijana to Mr Rayment)

He thinks: she had a life before I was born. He is glad for her sake, since she has no life any more.

El pasado es historia, y ¿qué es la historia salvo un relato hecho de aire que nos contamos a nosotros mismos?

Is that the secret meaning of the word story, do you think: a storing place of memories?

Hunde la cabeza en la camiseta del niño. ¿Es pura imaginación suya o la tela conserva aún el leve olor a canela de la piel del niño?

Those into whose lives you are born do not pass away.

Sabes qué haré, Simón? Justo antes de morir, voy a escribir todo lo que pasó en mi vida en un papel y después lo voy a plegar muy chiquito y apretarlo en el puño. Entonces, cuando me despierte en la nueva vida podré leer el papel y saber quién soy.

All creatures come into the world bringing with them the memory of justice. But we live in a world of laws, a world of the second-best. There is nothing we can do about that. We are fallen creatures. All we can do is to uphold the laws, all of us, without allowing the memory of justice to fade.

Lamentablemente, no. No recuerdo nada, ni el pasado ni el futuro. Comparado contigo, David, soy un tipo muy obtuso, nada excepcional; de hecho, todo lo opuesto de excepcional. Vivo en el presente, como un buey.

The deadweight of his body,coupled with the aches, made him remember back to a time when he'd gotten colds or flus. Same feeling. Was it possible he was getting sick? Made him wonder if anyone had come up with a product like Dead-quil or some shit. Probably not.

In the silence that followed, Blay knew he had something he was supposed to say. Yeah...it was right on his tongue. It was... Shit. With Qhuinn looking at him like that, he couldn't remember his own name. Blaysox? Blacklock? Blabberfox? Who the fuck knew...

His thumb went back and forth over the satin, as if he were rubbing her hip as he had when they'd been together, and he moved his leg over so that it was on top of the skirting. It wasn't the same, though. There was no body underneath, and the fabric smelled like lemons, not her skin. And he was, after all, alone in this room that was not theirs. "God, I miss you," he said in a voice that cracked. "Every night. Every day…

You said you wanted to remember something.' His palms slid up to the top of her thighs and squeezed. 'So lie back and let me do my thing.' -Issac Rothe, Crave

Your past was the same as your skin: with you for life, both the proverbial beauty marks . . . and the scars.

I've never stopped wanting you, Lizzie. Thinking about you. Wishing you were with me. Hell, I feel like I've been in a relationship with a ghost … I see you in my dreams every night – you're so real that I can touch you, feel you, be with you." "You've got to stop." "I can't. Lizzie…I can't.

It makes me crazy, your voice. Every day, after we'd hang up the phone, I would sleep with the fucking thing on my chest. Like maybe part of your voice, part of you was still in it.

Sometimes kindness and love could be just as difficult as violence to witness. Sometimes, when you were on the outside looking in, watching two in-sync people was a scene from a horror film, the kind of thing that you wanted to look away from, forget about, banish the memory of - especially when you were about to go to bed for the day and facing hours upon hours of being alone in the dark. The knowledge that she would never have that special love with anyone was-

Shit, this had to be how Alzheimer's patients felt: Their personality was intact and so was their intellect...but they were surrounded by a world that no longer made sense because they couldn't hold on to their memories and associations and extrapolations.

Ivie froze at the sound of the deep, low voice. Later, much later, she would remember most clearly not the moment she looked into his eyes, but rather the split second before she did. And that was because, when you were falling from a great distance, spinning and turning in mid-air, uncertain of your chances of surviving the landing, the thing that was even more vivid than when you hit was the last moment before consequence owned you.

Children were the only immortality mortals got—and even then, two generations later, three at the most, no one knew you in person anymore.

No podía recordar exactamente cómo había entrado en su apartamento, o lo que le había dicho. Pero todo lo que habían hecho en posición horizontal era endiabladamente vívido.