Quotes About Recollection

It was good that she remembered him, though it was exhausting to do so.No rest for the weary. Or the dying. Or the dead.

A memory is a beautiful thing, it's almost a desire that you miss.

Smell is the sense of memory and desire.

Nothing is more consuming, or more illogical, than the desire for remembrance.

Who recollects distinctly his past adventures, knows his destiny to come.

Death in anonymity is the ultimate insult to human dignity.

I was asked to memorise what I did not understand; and, my memory being so good, it refused to be insulted in that manner.

I have an excellent memory - for books and authors, that is. I remember all the books I've read.

I didn't even know I had a legacy.

I keep a list of everyone I've ever met.

Sometimes you remember more about the location where you shot the film than the film itself.

The memory loss made me jittery at times.

Marjorie Luke was funny and huge, or at least I remember her that way.

The thing about lying is, it is quite exhausting - you have to remember a lot.

We tend to think of memories as monuments we once forged and may find intact beneath the weedy growth of years. But, in a real sense, memories are tied to and describe the present. Formed in an idiosyncratic way when they happened, they're also true to the moment of recall, including how you feel, all you've experienced, and new values, passions, and vulnerability. One never steps into the same stream of consciousness twice.

Did she really remember that day so clearly or was she making it up as she went along?

Sometimes you can know things. Things about yourself. Things from before you can remember.

Seventeen years being neither a very short nor a very long time, Phillip was remembered and misremembered in equal measure.

Pigs were funny creatures. You could almost think they were human the way they looked at you sometimes. Or was the pig remembering something? Yes, she realized, that was it. The pig looked exactly as if she were recollecting some happiness now lost, so that joy remembered was overlaid with present sorrow.

The cat, I remember.

Then something rang a bell in his mind. What

Memory is like a rope, knotted every three or four feet, and hanging down a deep well. When you pull it up, just about anything might be attached to those knots. But you'll never know what's there if you don't pull. And the more you pull at that rope, the more you find.

Your memory rope may not contain a precise, photographic accounting of past events, because those moments become lost within seconds of anything that occurs. But still, your honest (if not accurate) memories will be attached to those knots, and those honest memories—along with reflection, examination, reconsideration—are precisely what the memoirist has to offer.

I wasn't merely remembering, it seemed to be trapped inside my eyelids.