Quotes About Forgotten

Érase una vez dos lunas que eran hermanas. Nitid era la diosa de las lagrimas y la vida, y el cielo era suyo. Nadie veneraba a Ellai, Excepto los amantes secretos.

We were, after all, a ragtag accumulation of unwanted, an awkward reminder of a war the whole country was trying to forget.

After emotions are felt, expressed, where do they go? Is there a place where spent passion collects? Surely it can't simply vaporize, disappear like smoke. There must be a secret hiding place. For every old love affair, a locked room.

So here's where they put you. I didn't think they even used these cells anymore." He glanced sideways. "I got the wrong window at first. Gave your friend in the next cell something of a shock. Attractive fellow, what with the beard and the rags. Kind of reminds me of the street folk back home.

There were some feelings you never forgot.

Meanwhile, we have carved out a place for ourselves among the dead; the glittering pinnacles of commerce rise along the skyline, their foundations sunk in a charnel house; and the lost lie forgotten below us as, overhead, we persaude ourselves that we are immortal and carry on the business of life.

I hate her." Merlin laughed, tossing the stick down. "Not so. You have forgotten how to love. That's a different sorrow.

He meant to kill me...No, not kill me – make me forget. Forget everything. He said we'd live together in a house of pumpkin and gold – yes, once I couldn't remember why I'd come to Fairyland-Below, or recall Fairyland-Above, or even Omaha and Mother and Father and any reason not to live in Tain and feast every night! How could he? That's as bad as killing, to take away everything a person is.

i vinti che più ispirano la nostra pietà sono le persone che non stavano con nessuna delle due parti in lotta. E che dopo la fine della guerra sono state dimenticate dalla storia.»

The sea is a memory. It is mesmerising. Its beauty is intolerable. What it buries is vaster than what it reveals. Every so often you get a glimpse of what you forget, or you wade in and something snags you, a broken shell or a sea urchin the fishermen missed...No waves speak with the same voice, though they share the same elements and motion, the regular beating of the surf, their rippling heaves.

But the flu was expunged from newspapers, magazines, textbooks, and society's collective memory. Crosby calls the 1918 flu "America's forgotten pandemic," noting:

Let me be like a thing left in a corner and forgotten

Lasciatemi così come una cosa posata in un angolo e dimenticata

He had learned to get along without her. Her meaning was forgotten. There was no place for her in his scheme of things, as there was no place for him in hers.

Again and again, I pushed my memories away. There were days when it was easy and days when it was hard. My love ... was a boulder in my heart. I sought to let go of it and let it sink. Let it sink below the surface, carrying my heart with it. Let it come to rest on the stream's bottom, a vast hidden bulwark, dividing the current. Let it stay there, hidden and unseen. Forgotten. Betimes it worked. Betimes it didn't. It was the best I could do.

From the time that money began to be regarded with honor, the real value of things was forgotten.

His mind was like the sea itself: troubled, and too deep for the bravest man's descent, throwing up now and again, for the naked eye to wonder at, treasure and debris long forgotten on the bottom—bones and jewels, fantastic shells, jelly that had once been flesh, pearls that had once been eyes. And he was at the mercy of this sea, hanging there with darkness all around him.

He stared in a dull paralysis of terror at the body of Elisha. He saw him standing - had Elisha forgotten? - beside Ella Mae before the altar while Father James rebuked him for the evil that lived in the flesh. He looked into Elisha's face, full of questions he would never ask. And Elisha's face told him nothing.

I have not thought of that boy—Joey—for many years; but I see him quite clearly tonight. It was several years ago. I was still in my teens, he was about my age, give or take a year. He was a very nice boy, too, very quick and dark, and always laughing. For a while he was my best friend. Later, the idea that such a person could have been my best friend was proof of some horrifying taint in me. So I forgot him. But I see him very well tonight.

To remember it so clearly, so painfully tonight tells me that I have never for an instant truly forgotten it.

She was responding to him with parts of herself that had been buried so long she had forgotten they existed. In his office that morning, when he shook her hand, she had suddenly felt a warmth of affection, of nostalgia, of gratitude even—and again in the lobby—he had somehow made her feel safe. It was his friendliness that was so unsettling. She had grown used to unfriendly people.

he still remembered their cries for help in God's name. But God had turned His face from those men that day, so they had perished

What the underdog socialist has forgotten is that the story of the left ought to be a narrative of hope and progress.

Few people have heard of John Hawkshaw, the engineer responsible for Brighton's sewers, but he also built the Severn Tunnel and parts of the London Underground system. Such figures, largely forgotten now, conceived an infrastructure that was perfect in its fine detail and intended to last for a century or more - as it has.