Quotes about Memory

the Golden Thread I. Five Years Later II. A Sight III. A Disappointment IV.

One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind;

The beer has reminded me that I forgot.

All this, I say, is yesterday's event. Events of later date have floated from me to the shore where all forgotten things will reappear, but this stands like a high rock in the ocean.

The two offices of memory are collection and distribution.

"You must love this place very much," said Miss Fenn... "So many homes are like twenty others. But this is unique, and you seem to know every cranny of it. I dare say you could never love another home so well." "Oh, I carry it with me," said Deronda... "To most men their early home is no more than a memory of their early years... The image is never marred. There's no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations are always on the good side."

The first photograph I ever experienced consciously is a picture of my mother from before she gave birth to me. Unfortunately, it's a black-and-white photograph, which means that many of the details have been lost, turning into nothing but gray shapes.

The mystic cords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone, all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the angels of our nature.

I remember, May 1944: I was 15-and-a-half, and I was thrown into a haunted universe where the story of the human adventure seemed to swing irrevocably between horror and malediction.

Performance is there, and if you are not there in that moment it happened, it just stays in the memory. It's so immaterial and something this immaterial is very difficult to collect. Its difficult to buy, its how we can buy immaterial art.

Many Christians are like sieves. Put a sieve into the water, and it is full; but take it out of the water, and it all runs out. So, while they are hearing the sermon, they remember something of value. But, like the sieve, as soon as they have left the church, all is forgotten.

Memory is the diary we all carry about with us.