Quotes About Recollection

Memory's truth, because memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own.

Memory's truth, because memory has its own special kind. It selects, eliminates, alters, exaggerates, minimizes, glorifies, and vilifies also; but in the end it creates its own reality, its heterogeneous but usually coherent version of events; and no sane human being ever trusts someone else's version more than his own." Yes:

Everybody forgets some small things, all the time!" But if small things go, will large things be close behind?

The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.

Memory is a drug. Memory can hold you against your strength and against your will.

although there still lingered in his mind a faint and unperfect recollection of the events of the preceding night; just as the brain retains on waking in the morning the dim and misty outline of a dream.

We had forgotten to say that Jacopo was a Corsican.

While working night and day, I sometimes lose all recollection of the past, and then I experience the same sort of happiness I can imagine the dead feel; still, it is better than suffering.

Când închid ochii, rev?d tot ce am v?zut. Exist? dou? feluri de priviri: privirea trupului È™i privirea sufletului. Privirea trupului poate uita uneori, dar cea a sufletului îÈ™i aminteÈ™te totdeauna.

Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave him strength to proceed.

Athos, c'est votre femme, vous dis-je, répétait d'Artagnan, ne vous rappelez-vous donc pas comme les deux signalements se ressemblent ? - J'aurais cependant cru que l'autre était morte, je l'avais si bien pendu.

But, of course, memory and responsibility are strangers. They're foreign to each other. Memory always goes its own way quite regardless.

Let everyone see the blood,' he said. 'Don't clean it up. That's the only way people remember.'... I could see the blood inside my head. It was with me forever, whether or not I wanted to forget.

I thought about how it was impossible to forget, no matter how hard anyone might try.

The job she had to do, as she saw it, was to remember everything—and by "remember" she meant experience it in her mind, one more time—then store it away forever. This day's experience set in order, none of it left ragged or lying about, all of it gathered in like treasure and finished with, set aside.

You remember your history?" He had finished five years of high school with respectable marks and a very good showing in trigonometry and geography but did not remember much history. In his final year, anyway, all you could think about was that you were going to the war. He said, "Not altogether.

What is the purpose of memory? Is it a trick to make sure we don't forget who we are by reminding us of who we were?

Some people don't understand that it is the nature of the eye to have seen forever, and the nature of the mind to recall anything that was ever known.

Some people don't understand that it is the nature of the eye to have seen forever, and the nature of the mind to recall anything that was ever known.

My mother must have bathed me hundreds of times. But it's my father rinsing me off with the purple metal cup that I remember most clearly. The suffusion of warmth as the hot water sluiced over me... ...the sudden, unbearable cold of its absence.

How strange to remember anything, even a button much less a universe. 'What creature gives birth to itself?' The universe is mad, slightly mad.

Plus grands sont les amours, plus courte est la mémoire Vous l'avez oublié, nous en sommes tous là ; Le cÅ"ur le plus aimant n'est qu'une vaste armoire. On fait deux tours, et puis voilà.

It is memory that has made the person I am today. Without memory we cannot form relationships, we cannot know who we are, we cannot forge our identities. The same is true for history.

This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with interspaces blank and black -- witch-fires glowing still and red in a great desolation.