Quotes About Forgotten

I'd rather be forgotten for the things people think I've done. And I'd give it all if I could forget the things I failed to do.

rather be forgotten for the things people think I've done. And I'd give it all if I could forget the things I failed to do.

Nothing's forgotten. Nothing is ever forgotten.

Our stories say that of all the plants, wiingaashk, or sweetgrass, was the very first to grow on the earth, its fragrance a sweet memory of Skywoman's hand. Accordingly, it is honored as one of the four sacred plants of my people. Breathe in its scent and you start to remember things you didn't know you'd forgotten.

What knowledge the people have forgotten is remembered by the land.

Breathe in its scent and you start to remember things you didn't know you'd forgotten.

She loves you. She's just forgotten how to show it.

The woods were deserted that day. The stones stood still and silent, as though they were waiting for something. At the center of them all, a jagged piece of amber glowed in the growing darkness. Lights fizzed softly around it, turning pink, orange, purple, blue. No one saw it. No one ever did. Why would they? No one knoew about its magic, not anymore. They had forgotten all about such magic a long, long time ago. About the same time they stopped believing in faries. How foolish.

In the new light, Gabe could see that the weapons had changed. They were broken toys, bits of rusted tin, as if a careless child had left them out in the rain.

And Jabim is the Lord of broken things, who sitteth behind the house to lament the things that are cast away. And there he sitteth lamenting the broken things until the worlds be ended, or until someone cometh to mend the broken things. Or sometimes he sitteth by the river's edge to lament the forgotten things that drift upon it. A kindly god is Jabim, whose heart is sore if anything be lost.

If you had forgotten, it would quickly come back to you. Aloneness was like riding a bike. At gunpoint. With the gun in your own hand. Aloneness was the air in your tires, the wind in your hair. You didn't have to go looking for it with open arms. With open arms, you fell off the bike: I was drinking my wine too quickly.

There comes a point in life where each one of us who survives begins to feel like a ghost that has forgotten to die at the right time

I want to do something splendid before I go into my castle, something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it, and mean o astonish you all some day.

Tell Beth Frank asked for her, and was sorry to hear of her ill health. Fred laughed when I spoke of Jo, and sent his 'respectful compliments to the big hat'. Neither of them had forgotten Camp Laurence, or the fun we had there. What ages ago it seems, doesn't it?

I want to do something splendid … Something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead … I think I shall write books.

She is one of the timid, innocent, humble, creatures who can't push their way, and so get put aside and forgotten, She has tried all sorts of poorly paid work, couldn't live on it decently, got discouraged, sick, frightened, and could see no refuge from the big, bad world but to get out of it while she wasn't afraid to die. A very old story, my dear, new and dreadful as it seems to you.

Perhaps you will know how to speak this language--perhaps it is a language we have forgotten in its present form. Perhaps you are dreaming in this language right now. And perhaps there is a word that has changed the course of human existence. A word written in the depth of things, in the quantum and genetic and synaptic codes, a word that told all beings and all life--enough.

I turn onto North Market Street to pass Thomas Wolfe's house. I'd planned to do my dissertation on Wolfe. My advisor argued against it. Wolfe is all but forgotten now, she said, which seemed all the more reason to do it, so he would not be forgotten, or only, as Wolfe himself wrote, by the wind grieved. The

but had forgotten all their names. A light burnt over the door. He went up the path, sea-pebbles crunching

A Time For Prayer In times of war and not before, God and the soldier we adore. But in times of peace and all things righted, God is forgotten and the soldier slighted. -Rudyard Kipling

What is has been. What will be is no more than a forgotten year striking backward.

At one point in my life, I learned how to think. I used to know how to feel. In war, these are lessons best forgotten.

I used to know how to feel. In war, these are lessons best forgotten.

let me belong again to that faraway place I left so long ago, from which I am alienated, and which has forgotten me, in which I am an alien now even though it was the place where I began, let me belong again, walk those streets knowing they are mine, knowing that my story is a part of those streets, even though it isn't, it hasn't been for most of a lifetime, let it be so, let it be so