Quotes About Forgotten

I hadn't so much forgot as I couldn't bring myself to remember. Other things were more important.

Ce Français avec qui je sortais. - Je l'avais oublié, dit-elle. Comment il s'appelait, déjà ? - Enfoiré, dis-je. - Exact.

Once when I visited her, she scuffed around the house in pink pile-lined slippers you'd wear only while waiting for the police to discover you many days dead.

much followed from that hurried ceremony in the flower-speckled clearing beside the stream. So many died. There was so much heartache, so much blood and so many tears that they would have made a great river; yet, in time, the eddies smoothed, new rivers joined, and the tears went down to the great wide sea and some people forgot how it ever began. The time of glory did come, yet what might have been never did, and of all those who were hurt by that moment in the sun, Arthur was hurt the most.

Uncle Harry Wentworth's dollar was turned deep under the sod. But though the sun shone on it and the rain fell, nothing ever came from it,— not a green thing nor a singing thing nor a human soul.

Betty, who had found an old battered doll, was sitting quietly in the corner and industriously endeavoring to pick its one eye out

Instead, we feel like ashes, leftovers from a bygone fire, blown aimlessly by the wind. We feel like we're not even important enough to be forgotten, because we were never known in the first place.

Most reputations are not ruined but forgotten.

We live in an age where the artist is forgotten. He is a researcher. I see myself that way.

Most prisons in this country are in the middle of nowhere, which makes it much easier for us all to throw those people away. Out of sight, out of mind.

It doesn't seem enough, and as he starts them off, you want to call after him, tell him how you too question the ways of faith, the injustice, the never-ending losses, that it stuns you too, that you still grieve for Mrs. Goetz and Arnie and Eric Soderholm just as their families do, though everyone else seems to have forgotten. Lydia Flynn, the tramp behind Meyer's, the men in the swamps of Kentucky. If a sparrow fall, you want to say, it is not lost. I will remember. We are all saved.

To be ignored, to be forgotten, this was the worst sadness of all.

To be ignored, to be forgotten, this was the worst sadness of all. I swore an oath to set down their accomplishments and praise their flourishings, no matter how small. I would be a chronicler of lost stories. It was exactly the kind of boldness Mother despised.

The words I wrote would not be read by unborn eyes. I would become the forgotten wife of a horrid little man lusting for a son.

Your goodness will not be forgotten," I told him. "Not a single act of your love will be squandered. You've brought God's kingdom as you hoped—you've planted it in our hearts.

Obsession is an accidental haunting, by a person not aware she's a ghost. I knew Sarah was my ghost, but she'd forgotten I even existed.

People call me a philosopher or a scientist or an anthropologist. I am none of those things. I am an anamnesiologist. I study what has been forgotten. I divine what has disappeared utterly. I work with absences, with silences, with curious gaps between things. I am really more of a magician than anything else.' Laurence Arne-Sayles, interview in The Secret Garden, May 1976

SOME PEOPLE WOULD NEVER FORGET certain people, a few people would remember everyone, and most of us would mostly be forgotten. Sometimes it was for the best.

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.

The memory has a marvellous capacity to remember the forgotten, its existence and its stalking, and thus allow us to stay alert when we don't want to forget and forget when we choose to.

Quizá tenemos miedo a lo que viene después porque, en el fondo, una brizna de nuestro ser recuerda algo terrible. Algo que olvidamos cuando llenamos por primera vez de aire nuestros pulmones, y lloramos. Y si nada nos libra de la muerte, al menos que el amor nos salve de la vida.

No, era un viejo borracho, tirado en el suelo, en un anochecer, entre sus propios olores, ajeno, desde hacía rato, a la enorme realidad; un viejo que dormía al sereno, y al que buscarían, con faroles, inútilmente, para la cena.

You can greet even the dullest acquaintance with pleasure, if you have forgotten their dreary story.

But it only passes through her mind, and then, like a dusty book consigned to a shelf, it joins the vast sad library of things left unsaid.