Quotes About Forgotten

She laid the doll on the sofa, and covered it with an antimacassar, to sleep. Then she forgot it. Meantime Paul must practise jumping off the sofa arm. So he jumped crash into the face of the hidden doll. Annie rushed up, uttered a loud wail, and sat down to weep a dirge. Paul remained quite still. ... He seemed to hate the doll so intensely, because he had broken it.

It is so still and transcendent, the cypress trees poise like flames of forgotten darkness, that should have been blown out at the end of the summer. For as we have candles to light the darkness of night, so the cypresses are candles to keep the darkness aflame in the full sunshine.

In the long run, no one but the originator remembers things such as whose idea it was, who spoke first, or who took the first risk. What people remember is magnanimity.

Our histories tend to discuss American slavery so impartially, that in the end nobody seems to have done wrong and everybody was right. Slavery appears to have thrust upon unwilling helpless America, while the South was blameless in becoming its center...One is astonished in the study of history at the recurrence of the idea that evil must be forgotten, distorted, skimmed over.

Grandma and I were cautiously polite to each other. "Make yourself at home, Dolores," she said hesitantly as she opened the door to what had once been my mother's bedroom. The room smelled dry and dusty. The windows were stuck closed and there were little rows of insect carcasses along the sill. When I sat down on the hard mattress, it crackled under me.

She shooed away the kiss, a distraction. "Grouchie Gertie," she said, softly. "I'd forgotten that.

The real war will never get in the books.

Eravamo insieme. Tutto il resto del mondo l'ho scordato.

What has been forgotten.... is never something purely individual.

We have long forgotten the ritual by which the house of our life was erected.

He who is abandoned is an abandoner.

Life, he said, has little to do with progress. More often than not men make the decisions that lead to their own deaths. They delegate, hate, stay when all the signs say go. Mostly they're unwilling to make a deal. And they're almost all forgotten. No better remembered than a cockroach who succumbs to a poison that you set down under the pantry six months before.

There are people out there so heavily specialized in wearable technology that they call shirts with networked devices built into them "wearable shirts." They're so deep into their own silo of futurism that they've forgotten how shirts work.

I left parts of myself everywhere, The way absent-minded people leave Gloves and umbrellas Whose colors are sad from dispensing so much bad luck

Damaris; upon which he swore he would write a long highbrow article and publish it — Damaris being, for that purpose, a forgotten queen of Trebizond overthrown by the Saracen invasion.

palatable. Easier to overlook. Forgotten, or at least smoothed into some pearl-like blandness, if not a thing of beauty.

I did not cry. I only breathed. Horribly. Intentionally. And then forgot to breathe.

Don said, "By any chance did someone come in to confess while I was out, and just maybe you forgot to mention it?" Corrine said no one had.

Channels are blocked in the mind, from the day. Lie down in blackness of night, forgotten remnants rush to the mind, or creeping slowly appear in the dreams.

Calligraphy, a spiritual art that has been forgotten in favor of an emotionless keyboard.

There was a senator, I think it was after my pancreatic cancer, who announced with great glee that I was going to be dead within six months. That senator, whose name I have forgotten, is now himself dead, and I am very much alive.

The feeling of abandonment overwhelmed me as I realised that no one had waited, or cared where I was.

run run run Hermione. You have in your hands a message and a token...run and run and run and run Hermione. You know running and running and running that the messenger will take (lampadephoros) your message in its fervour and you will sink down exhausted...run,run, Hermione. For the message-bearer next in line has turned against you...dead, dead or forgotten. Hecate at crossroads, a destruction...

Helen, Helen, come home; there was a Helen before there was a War, but who remembers her?