Quotes About Forgotten

The past comes back once and then it keeps coming back and coming back, not just one part of the past but all of it, the forgotten crowd of your life breaks out of the gallery and comes rushing at you, and there is no sense in hiding from the crowd, it will find you; it's your crowd, you're the only one it's looking for.

You swore to me. Does your word mean nothing?" Peter smiled wickedly, like someone who had just called checkmate. "I had my fingers crossed." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?" "That's the rules. You forgot to check.

And my eyes, too, have been opened," Krampus said. "For I clearly see that mankind has not yet forgotten who they are. That deep down their wild spirit still burns. That they need only a little nudge to be set free." Krampus grinned, beamed. "And I will always be there to give them that nudge . . . in some shape or form, no matter what games the gods may play.

The broken things, forgotten things... and missing things.

The most extreme agony is to feel that one has been utterly forsaken.

They were villages forgotten in the depth of time, peopled by creatures chained forever to their tiny destinies.

Usher—threadbare

The poet Hilaire Belloc included the following poem about the dodo in his Bad Child's Book of Beasts from 1896: The Dodo used to walk around, And take the sun and air. The sun yet warms his native ground – The Dodo is not there! The voice which used to squawk and squeak Is now for ever dumb – Yet may you see his bones and beak All in the Mu-se-um.[147]

He thinks, I remembered you, Thomas More, but you didn't remember me. You never even saw me coming.

Whatever may be the tensions and the stresses of a particular day, there is always lurking close at hand the trailing beauty of forgotten joy or unremembered peace.

An unfinished bottle of champagne found in an old cupboard with all the sparkle gone.

Oh dear. I do believe this is self-pity. I am imagining myself dramatically dead, tragically taken from you and even more lamentably forgotten. What dreadful clichés war and social strife reduces us to, and how powerful the effect must be, if even I am so infected. I think I must pull myself together.

It's like a sealed, forgotten chamber in me; I shan't feel complete until I've discovered its entrance.' 'Sounds like a tomb. Aren't you afraid of what you'll find in there?' 'It's a library; only the stupid and the evil are afraid of those.

It's already clear to me how much of life is forgotten even as it happens. Most of it. The unregarded present spooling away from us, the soft tumble of unremarkable thoughts, the long-neglected miracle of existence.

How easily this unthinking family love was forgotten.

Interest groups are not the same as individuals. Through false nostalgia for the New Deal, you are taking the younger generation hostage. They are the ones who are going to have to pay far greater taxes. They are the future's forgotten men.

Since reuniting in 2002, Mission of Burma has become the triumphant story of a band that time forgot.

The tropical island of Puerto Rico couldn't be more different than America's rust belt or the mountains of Appalachia, but here too live Americans who feel forgotten by our leaders and left behind by our economy.

So many old and lovely things are stored in the world's attic because we don't want them around us and we don't dare throw them out.

I have no intent. I have no reason to live, that's all. When I'm gone, I don't want to be remembered.

Where history means nothing. Lessons are forgotten. Memories – of humanity, of all that is humane – are lost.

As with all things, layer settles upon layer, and in time the deepest, darkest ones become forgotten – yet they have shaped all that lies above.

The dead are ever refashioned, for they have no defence against those who would use or abuse them – who they were, what their deeds meant.

I would say, most of the time, yes. Fear that our opinions might be challenged. Fear that our way of seeing things might be called ignorant, self-serving, or indeed evil. Fear for our persons. Fear for our future, our fate. Our moment of death. Fear of failing in all that we set out to achieve. Fear of being forgotten.