Quotes About Forgotten

I still love you, but it doesn't matter to you anymore.

A life without any purpose or meaning, is actually no life at all.. You will be missed by a select few, and forgotten quickly by many.

He would be hated now. No one would remember his glory, or his honesty, or his beauty; all his gold would be turned to ashes and ruin.

He yawned, his eyes heavylidded. "what`s your name?" His kingdom was half, a quarter, an eight the size of my father`s, and i had killed a boy and been exiled and still he did not know me. i grounded my jaw shut and would not speak. He asked again, louder: "What`s your name?

Cross your fingers, throw salt over your shoulder, knock on wood...simple folk remedies for unfortunate situations. Silly superstitions...but were they based in truth from a past long forgotten? I didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to just do it and let the Universe do its job if it was of a mind to. Don't you think?

I will send word,' he says, behind her, and she starts. She had almost forgotten he was there. What was it he had been saying? 'Send word?' she repeats. 'To whom?' 'To you.' 'To me? Why?' She gestures down at herself. 'I am here before you.

Esme looks up, sees the watch in Iris's outstretched hand and shakes her head. She holds up the blue check material and Iris sees that it is a dress, a woollen dress, that it's crumpled and two of the buttons are missing, torn out from the fabric. Esme is shaking it, as if something might be caught in its folds, then casts it aside.

I testify that I am free and alive when I am forgotten

And things go unsaid soon get forgotten

Era preciso morir para saber ciertas cosas? Ahora comprende también que en el corazón y en los sentidos de aquel hombre ella había hincado sus raíces; que jamás, aunque a menudo lo creyera, estuvo enteramente sola; que jamás, aunque a menudo lo pensara, fue realmente olvidada.

Les parents ont tout oublié, ce n'est pas de leur faute, ils ont juste vieilli.

And then, gradually, the memory of her would fade away, I had forgotten the girl of my dream.

We remember the truth because it has a name, is rooted in the past, but a makeshift lie is quickly forgotten.

A book is like a large cemetery upon whose tombs one can no longer read the effaced names. On the other hand, sometimes one remembers well the name, without knowing if anything of the being, whose name it was, survives in these pages.

The resurrection at our awakening-after that beneficent attack of mental alienation which is sleep-must after all be similar to what occurs when we recall a name, a line, a refrain that we had forgotten. And perhaps the resurrection of the soul after death is to be conceived as a phenomenon of memory.

I had indeed suffered successively through Gilberte, through Mme de Guermantes, through Albertine. Successively also I had forgotten them and only my love, dedicated at different times to different beings, had lasted.

a book is a great cemetery in which, for the most part, the names upon the tombs are effaced.

Alexis was now accustomed to his uncle's fatal disease as we are to all things that last around us; and because he had once made his nephew cry as the dead make us cry, the boy, even though his uncle was still alive, treated him like a dead man: he had begun to forget him.

But it is always easy to put together stories about a past which nobody any longer remembers, like those about journeys to countries where nobody has ever been.

We respond with joy to the call of beauty because in an instant it can awaken under the layers of the heart a forgotten brightness. Plato said: 'Beauty was ours in all its brightness...Whole were we who celebrated that festival' (Phaedrus).

Isa. xliii. 22, "Thou hast not called upon me, thou hast been weary of me.

Hiding the past never works as well as simply neglecting it.

generally perfectly okay for most other folks. When a lie has negative consequences, people dislike it. But otherwise? They move on, and eventually the lie as a lie is forgotten, or in this case, codified as the foundation of religious practice and buffed and sanded into something prettier and more congenial.

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.