Quotes About Recollection

I've forgotten who I had lunch with earlier, and even more important, where.

Sometimes the only thing you need for madness is a memory burned into your eyes.

Every memory has a trigger. —Mentat observation

I am a people watcher and I have a very good memory.

My memories are like a shuffled deck of cards, each one coming up at random.

What we do not wish to remember we sometimes hide. That which we hide long enough is sometimes forgotten altogether, even if it never forgets itself.

His heart definitely had a longer memory than his mind.

He lives in his memories

If I remember it, did it happen?

There is another connection between infancy and dreams: both are followed by amnesia. When we emerge from either state, we have great difficulty remembering what we have experienced. In both cases, I would suggest, the left hemisphere of the neocortex, which is responsible for analytic recollection, has been functioning ineffectively.

In memory everything seems to happen to music.

Our self discoveries make us each a microcosm of the larger pattern of history. The inertia of introspection leads toward recollection, for only through memory is the past recaptured and understood. In the fact of experiencing and making the present, we are all actors.

Forces, visible and hidden, stretching back into one's past; migrations; religious conversions — our self discoveries make us each a microcosm of the larger pattern of history. The inertia of introspection leads toward recollection, for only through memory is the past recaptured and understood. In the fact of experiencing and making the present, we are all actors.

Forgotten memories surfaced like the ghosts of the dead (...)

The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you've got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You've got to stop. You haven't really been anywhere until you've got back home.

I REMEMBER WHEN ALL THIS WILL BE AGAIN.

The hippo of recollection stirred in the muddy waters of the mind.

She knew a cutting, incisive, withering and above all a self-evident answer existed. It was just that, to her extreme annoyance, she couldn't quite bring it to mind.

Colon looked awkward, as if the bunched underwear of the past was tangling itself in the crotch of recollection.

She loved her brothers, when she reminded herself to, in a dutiful sort of way, although she generally remembered them as a collection of loud noises in trousers.

memory is the only way home.

I've been keeping tour journals since I was 17 years old.

I had read Plato and Kant, but I had forgotten it.

I have never kept diaries. I just remember a lot and am more self-centered than most people.