Quotes About Forgotten

No one is waiting for me. In this story, I'm the girl no one is waiting for.

Soiled, forgotten coats of arms were carved above their massive doorways, and these unsettled Ted: such universal, defining symbols made meaningless by nothing more than time.

So now I am alone and adrift having no idea where Stella and Iona have gone, and this gives me a fading feeling I get sometimes when I think Stella has forgotten me for good, like I'm a particle floating invisibly through space and I might float so far away that I stop existing even to myself. How will I get back?

But her only real witness, then and now, was Lydia. And her sister could only listen. She could not advise, or answer the questions that troubled Anna most: When would she be allowed to know what she knew? Or when would she have forgotten it?

By now it was afternoon. Ted began to walk, still dazed, until he found himself among a skein of backstreets so narrow they felt dark. He passed churches blistered with grime, moldering palazzi whose squalid interiors leaked sounds of wailing cats and children. Soiled, forgotten coats of arms were carved above their massive doorways, and these unsettled Ted: such universal, defining symbols made meaningless by nothing more than time." (p. 212)

How long has this place been bricked up?

They forgot everything the minute they were together again.

But the hearts that once adored me Have long forgot their vow And the friends that mustered round me Have all forsaken now 'Twas in a dream revealed to me But not a dreamt of sleep A dream of watchful agony Of grief that would not weep Now do not harshly turn away

I know some lonely houses off the road

But that was New Orleans for you. The old didn't die here. They were just forgotten.

In the old days, coffins were equipped with a warning system—a chain attached to a bell on the grave in case of a premature burial. They say at night, when the mist rolls in, you can hear those bells." He glanced over the railing. "The dead down there don't want to be forgotten…ever again.

How do you lose a word? Does it vanish into your memory, like an old toy in a cupboard, and lie hidden in the cobwebs and dust, waiting to be cleaned out or rediscovered?

Who is the forgotten man...? I know him as intimately as my own undershirt. He is the fellow that is trying to get along without public relief... In the meantime the taxpayers go on supporting many that would not work if they had jobs.

As soon as A observes something which seems to him to be wrong, from which X is suffering, A talks it over with B, and A and B then propose to get a law passed to remedy the evil and help X. Their law always proposes to determine…what A, B, and C shall do for X." But what about C? There was nothing wrong with A and B helping X. What was wrong was the law, and the indenturing of C to the cause. C was the forgotten man, the man who paid, "the man who never is thought of.

Journalists are not entertainers. We are reporters. We go to places that are unpopular. We broadcast voices that are controversial. We are not here to win popularity contests. We are here to cover the issues critical to a democratic society. We have to pressure the media, to shame the media into going into these forgotten places where so many are sent to waste away in silence.

Trav thought of the song – his song – and the cry from the invisible boy who slept in forgotten corners and lived to make people love him or hate him or anything so long as they didn't forget his name.

Bumfuck Nowhere and Left Ass Cheek of Yemen.

He could see somebody had thrown Cotton away. Somebody had thrown Jason's angel away.

John had forgotten her name as soon as she said it—it might as well be Charon for all he could remember),

Your grandmother's going to hell—the bad one where nobody remembers you, just so you know.

I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them.

Perhaps I am doomed to retrace my steps under the illusion that I am exploring, doomed to try and learn what I should simply recognize, learning a mere fraction of what I have forgotten.

You're eating without conviction, Inspector.' 'It's true. The fact is, I've got something on my mind.' 'The mind should be forgotten when the Lord in His grace puts such perches in front of you

I think part of the reason ideas haven't come in is that the world of cinema is changing so drastically, and in a weird way, feature films I think have become cheap. Everything is kind of throwaway. It's experienced and then forgotten.