Quotes About Forgotten

I am nothing, yes; I am air and darkness, a word, a promise. I watch in the crystal and I wait in the hollow hills. But out there in the light I have a young king and a bright sword to do my work for me, and build what will stand when my name is only a word for forgotten songs and outworn wisdom, and when your name, Morgause, is only a hissing in the dark.

When a country is defeated, there remain only mountains and rivers, and on a ruined castle in spring only grasses thrive. I sat down on my hat and wept bitterly till I almost forgot time. A thicket of summer grass Is all that remains Of the dreams and ambitions Of ancient warriors.

We are…the painters of unseen images. The singers of unheard songs. The caretakers of what has been lost. We are that which you choose to ignore.

Show me...Show me what I've forgotten...Show me what was so important...that it tore my heart in two?!

I'm sorry,' his other self said, as he sipped his wine and the sun set behind him, 'I've forgotten who you are.' 'Don't worry,' she said. 'So have I.' As she too faded away like the sun that had just been swallowed by the horizon.

This is how great knowledge dies, on bookshelves in plain sight.

What does it remember? Itself, death as memory. An immense memory in which one dies. First to forget. To remember only where one remembers nothing. To forget: to remember everything as though by way of forgetting. There is a profoundly forgotten point from which every memory radiates. Everything is exalted in memory from something which is forgotten, an infinitesimal detail, a minuscule fissure into which it passes in its entirety.

Any commemoration is also a betrayal.

Ne vrijedi pri?ati o strašnom ubijanju, o ljudskom strahu, o zvjerstvima i jednih i drugih, ne bi trebalo pamtiti, ni žaliti, ni slaviti. Najbolje je zaboraviti, da umre ljudsko sje?anje na sve što je ružno, i da djeca ne pjevaju pjesme o osveti.

no one wanted to think about the gangs of no-hope teenagers who already took over the nearby park all day, drinking lager and waiting for something to happen to them, trapped in a forgotten village in no-man's land between a ten-shop town and an amorphous industrial sprawl.

This was their favorite place to meet. It always felt hidden, forgotten. The gold-lettered World Book encyclopedias from the 1980s. The smell of old glue and crumbling paper, the industrial carpet burning her palms. It reminded her of what you did when you were a little girl, making little burrows and hideaways. Like boys did with forts. Eli and his friend, stacking sofa cushions, pretending to be sharpshooters. With girls, you didn't call them forts, though it was the same.

Remember the unremembered; love the unloved; salute the unsaluted; hear the unheard; do the things which have not been done!

To be forgotten is not something horrible; not to be remembered ever again is something horrible!

time before history" is because it was an era that came and went without leaving a trace of itself. Since nothing went "wrong, " nobody had any reason to write anything down. It was lived, not recorded.

Memory is a funny thing. It tricks you into believing that you've forgotten important moments, and then when you're raking your brain for a bit of information that might make sense of something else, it taps you on the head and says, "Remember when you told me to put that memory in the green rubbish bin? Well, I didn't, I put it in the black recycling tub, and it's coming your way again.

He was an answer to a question she'd forgotten to ask.

She stretched up on her tiptoes, tilted her head, trying to get even closer. Seth slid a hand around her waist and kissed her like she was the air, and he was suffocating. And she forgot about everything: there were no faeries, no Sight, nothing €"just them.

Allà dins hi havia viscut gent. De la vanitat, de l'odi, de les miques d'amor, en quedava la pols i un trist espectacle d'esplendor i d'oblit.

I thought you had forgotten me." "I have spent my life remembering you.

Os mortos não morrem quando deixam de viver, mas quando os votamos ao esquecimento.

Once someone dreams a dream, it can't just drop out of existence. But if the dreamer can't remember it, what becomes of it? It lives on in Fantastica, deep under earth. There are forgotten dreams stored in many layers. The deeper one digs, the closer they are. All Fantastica rests on a foundation of forgotten dreams.

There was another thing I had forgotten about the South: It was the one place on earth where an unsuspecting person could get killed by kindness.

Sometimes I wake at night and worry that I might have disappeared in my sleep. That's what happens when nobody cares about you. Bit by bit you begin to disappear until people look right through your chest and head like you're made of glass. It's not about love; it's about being forgotten. We only exist if others think about us. It is like that tree that falls in the forest with nobody around to hear it. Who the fuck cares except the birds?

I know the answer now, but I'm so frightened I've forgotten the question.