Quotes About Recollection

What is the past but what we choose to remember?

Why do some memories live only on your tongue or in your nose? Why do others always stay in your heart?

Memory, in fact, gives you no choice over which moments you can erase, and it is annoyingly persistent in retaining the most painful ones. It is extraordinarily faithful in recording the most hideous details, and it will recall them for you in the future with moments that are even only vaguely similar.

I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I had placed them.

I have a writer's memory which makes everything worse than maybe it actually was.

I can never remember things I didn't understand in the first place.

Qué es el pasado si no aquello que elegimos recordar?

Sólo recuerdas lo que quieres recordar. Sólo sabes lo que tu corazón te permite saber.

Do you know why that is? Why do some memories live only on your tongue or in your nose? Why do others always stay in your heart?

I watch them continue to argue, although perhaps it is not arguing. They are remembering together, dreaming together.

Isn't the past what people remember- who did what, how and why? And what the people remember, isn't that mostly what they've already chosen to believe?

Well, let me tell you, your recollection of every last detail has nothing to do with memory. It's called holding a goddamn grudge. ... That's what I remember the most, not addresses but pain - that old lump-in-the-throat conviction that the world had fingered me for abuse and neglect. Is that the same as a grudge?

I wanted to remember in order to be able to return.

El recuerdo es una invención desdichada.

To what extent does time distort memory>

Sometimes you couldn't face the sadness of being forgotten until you felt the comfort of being remembered again.

You forget your victories, but you remember the losses.

But it was smell that carried memory.

The forgetting and having to remember again was the very worst part.

My memory is good for some things and not others.

I confess I've relived it so many times, I hardly remember it anymore. My feelings are strong enough to refract and distort the truth of that journey. But then... my feelings are the truth of that journey

Each time her mind flashed on that image for a second, a fraction of a second, it blinded her like a flashbulb, burning out the center of her mind's eye to blackness.

What if it was someone else, someone who remembered something awful about the last Halloween masquerade, twenty-eight years ago?

Our nemesis is time, against which we have a single ally, memory, and even it betrays us.