Quotes About Recollection

Leo," Jason said, "you're weird." "Yeah, you tell me that a lot." Leo grinned. "But if you don't remember me, that means I can reuse all my old jokes...!

Leo tried to remember what had happened. He was pretty sure he had defeated Gaia…

GO! Remember!

Notes of the 'Remember to' variety that the owner must have written to herself. Miss Matilda

Someone once told me a memory is just another draft of a story.

Smells are custodians of memories.

Soren had been given the number 82-85. He couldn't remember what his previous number had

Yet however genuinely dreadful these moods and memories have been, they have always been offset by the elation and vitality of others; and whenever a mild and gentlish wave of brilliant and bubbling manic enthusiasm comes over me, I am transported by its exuberance—as surely as one is transported by a pungent scent into a world of profound recollection—to earlier, more intense and passionate times.

Even so, what I read often disappeared from my mind like snow on a hot pavement.

Memory, I realize, can be an unreliable thing; often it is heavily coloured by the circumstances in which one remembers.

What he wanted was not just to hear about Hailsham, but to remember Hailsham, just like it had been his own childhood. He knew he was close to completing and so that's what he was doing: getting me to describe things to him, so they'd really sink in, so that maybe during those sleepless nights, with the drugs and the paint and the exhaustion, the line would blur between what were my memories and what were his.

The stranger thought it might be God himself had forgotten much from our pasts, events far distant, events of the same day. And if a thing is not in God's mind, then what chance of it remaining in those of mortal men?

Then of course I found it. I'd been flicking through a row of cassette cases, my mind on other things, when suddenly there it was, under my fingers, looking just the way it had all those years ago: Judy, her cigarette, the coquettish look for the barman, the blurred palms in the background.

Es posible que las palabras que dije aquella tarde en el templo de Tamagawa no fueran exactamente éstas, ya que he contado esa escena en otras ocasiones, y cuando una historia se repite varias veces, empieza a adquirir vida propia.

It's just a bit of nostalgia to pass the time.

But it was not so much the content of our conversation as the little smiles she gave at the end of utterances, her small ironic inflections here and there, certain gestures with her shoulders or her hands, which began to recall unmistakably the rhythms and habits of our conversations from all those years ago.

A woman would always prefer to be remembered than forgotten.

En su recuerdo, repetía los momentos que habían pasado juntos una y otra vez

Memory whispers someplace in that jumbled machinery.

You read so much about the healing power of memoir, but you don't read about the wounding power it has first. The recollection of past events is not, in and of itself, therapeutic.

Memory is the primary and fundamental power, without which there could be no other intellectual operation.

Memory has strange power keeps full data of the past.

Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I, ever forget.

Remember how you made me crazy, remember how I made you scream.