Quotes About Forgetting

I sat up, surprised at the lateness, forgetting for a single, blissful moment the ruin of the previous day, and then all of it returned, winding itself around my ribs until I could barely breathe.

one must forget the past—more accurately, one must remember the necessity of forgetting.

Some people would never forget certain people, a few people would remember everyone, and most of us would mostly be forgotten.

We've outsourced our memories to digital devices, and the result is that we no longer trust our memories. We see every small forgotten thing as evidence that they're failing us.

Tell me all the things I'm going to forget." "With every person it's different." "Will I forget to love you?" "I hope not." "Don't let me forget to love you.

some memories, too, might better be forgotten. didn't Obasan once say, "it is better to forget"? what purpose is served by hauling forth the jar of inedible food? if it is not seen, it does not horrify. what is past recall is past pain.

Cuando nos olvidamos es que hemos perdido, sin duda alguna, menos memoria que deseo.

Nothing can last forever. There isn't any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn't fade out at last.

In the absence of strong political movements for human rights, the active process of bearing witness inevitably gives way to the active process of forgetting. Repression, dissociation, and denial are phenomena of social as well as individual consciousness.

In order to escape accountability for his crimes, the perpetrator does everything in his power to promote forgetting. If secrecy fails, the perpetrator attacks the credibility of his victim. If he cannot silence her absolutely, he tries to make sure no one listens.

No, I'm not going to forget it, I've spent my life forgetting things, not saying them, never telling anyone what I really want.

Alfonso Reyes said that one published what he had written in order to avoid spending his life correcting it: one publishes a book in order to leave it behind, one publishes a book in order to forget it.

Qué importa, qué más da, recuerdos son recuerdos: llamitas moribundas que ya apagará el olvido. En la mísera trama de la vida tejida de deleznables instantes, ¿qué es un instante entre millones además?

Je passe mes jours et mes nuits à tenter d'oublier Claire. C'est un travail à plein temps. Le matin, en me réveillant, je sais que telle sera ma seule occupation jusqu'au soir. J'ai un nouveau métier: oublieur de Claire. L'autre jour, à déjeuner, Jean Marie Périer m'a asséné : -Quand tu sais pourquoi tu aimes quelqu'un , c'est que tu ne l'aimes pas.

Demasiados recuerdos, demasiadas cosas que olvidar, borrar todo eso constitiye un duro trabajo, habrá que vivir muchos momentos hermosos para reemplazar los anteriores

Actually oddly enough, I think my work, the activism, will be forgotten. And I hope it will. Because I hope those problems will have gone away.

All of a sudden out of nowhere I can bring back things I haven't thought about for years. It's pretty interesting. Memory is so crazy! It's like we've got these drawers crammed with tons of useless stuff. Meanwhile, all the really important things we just keep forgetting, one after the other.

No matter how vivid memories may be, they can't win out against the power of time.

The ones who did it can always rationalize their actions and even forget what they did. They can turn away from things they don't want to see. But the surviving victims can never forget. They can't turn away. Their memories are passed on from parent to child. That's what the world is, after all: an endless battle of contrasting memories.

Memory is a barricade against forgetting; light is a bulwark against darkness; life is a flex against the stillness of the grave. Maybe that's what I'm trying to do here, clear a space in all the debris, through all the anxieties and worries, where I can just exist, easily and simply, entire, for as long as I have left.

Time doesn't really soften anything. Memories heave up, you know. Still sharp." "Forgetting takes practice," says Enid. "You have to work at it.

I like this other world, this forgetting of myself. The actor works in order to escape, not to find himself. You become an actor by leaving yourself, and then you have to keep acting. How tragic!

John McCrodden's anger, Poirot thought, was equal to Sylvia Rule's but different: less explosive, more enduring. He would not forget, whereas she might if a new and more pressing drama occurred.

If I did not simply live from one moment to another, it would be impossible for me to be patient, but I only look at the present, I forget the past, and I take good care not to forestall the future.