But sometimes the memories feel so real, so visceral, so personal, that I confuse them with my own.

How we keep these dead souls in our hearts. Each one of us carries within himself his necropolis.

This is the postmodern desert inhabited by people who are, in effect, consuming themselves in the form of images and abstractions through which their desires, sense of identity, and memories are replicated and then sold...

I knew that I would know more dead people. The bodies pile up. Could there be a space in my memory for each of them, or would I forget a little of Alaska every day...

Random thought fills the streambed, cascading with care and spilling over the flood plain until bifurcation forces it to arc and fork into a single, determined stream.

Do your work for six years; but in the seventh, go into solitude or among strangers, so that the memory of your friends does not hinder you from being what you have become.

The industry has a very short memory of what’s possible, and they like to typecast you.

We will never cease our critique of those persons who distort the past, rewrite it, falsify it, who exaggerate the importance of one event and fail to mention some other; such a critique is proper...

The unreality of the past weeks lifted like a fog, but its residue remained. All of the past is like that, but most especially the parts that are out of the ordinary.

The darkness was memory.

Nobel Prize-winning neuroscientist Eric Kandel says we are who we are because of what we learn and what we remember. Who am I, then, if my memory is impaired?

Another school declares that all time has already transpired and that our life is only the crepuscular and no doubt falsified and mutilated memory or reflection of an irrecoverable process.

Time is memory.

There either is or is not, that’s the way things are. The colour of the day. The way it felt to be a child. The saltwater on your sunburnt legs. Sometimes the water is yellow,...

Only in sleep, where there’s nothing but mind, can the mind clearly process all of the day’s experiences/memories – without distraction. And, perhaps, only in sleep, where there’s nothing but mind, can the mind truly...

We live with such easy assumptions, don’t we? For instance, that memory equals events plus time. But it’s all much odder than this. Who was it said that memory is what we thought we’d forgotten?...

Childhood isn’t just those years. It’s also the opinions you form about them afterward. That’s why our childhoods are so long.

We have seen that there are two misconceptions involved in the myth that memory is a thing. One is that memory is a thing (a tangible structure rather than an abstract process) and the other...

…here we have the first lesson about the nature of memory: what you wish to forget, you may not be able to. What seems to have died, perhaps is just asleep. On the other hand,...

If you want to be able to recall everything and anything in detail,then you need to be strong enough to feel all bad memories as well.

Time — how it expands to fill the spaces you create; how it makes meagre experiences seem never-ending. Whenever he heard people talk about the ravages of time, about how it robbed and deprived, Justin...

Memory is an illusion, nothing more. It is a fire that needs constant tending.

When it comes to Jews, you have a two-thousand-year memory, but when it comes to us Palestinians, you have a sixty-year amnesia.

Once, in his first term, Cartwright had been bold enough to ask him why he was clever, what exercises he did to keep his brain fit. Healey had laughed.”It’s memory, Cartwright, old dear. Memory, the...

Algún día irás andando por el camino y oirás o verás algo. Con toda claridad. Y pensarás que eres tú la que está pensando. Una imagen pensada. Pero no. Es cuando tropiezas con un recuerdo...

Most people, probably, are in doubt about certain matters ascribed to their past. They may have seen them, may have said them, done them, or they may only have dreamed or imagined they did so.

I would have no need for the Memory Of Things past if those which were Present were more agreeable

I’m in my 40s and I’m constantly surprised by how much my childhood still plays a part in my life.

I think the secret to a hoppy life is a selective memory. Remember what you are most grateful for and quickly forget what your not.

And, as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow it’s gone.

When a memory fails to appear, it seems as though the time when it was created did not really exist, and maybe that is true. Time itself is nothing; only the experience of it is...

Nature never remembers, that’s why she’s beautiful.

Only one who loves can remember so well.

Remember my friend, that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker

Perhaps it was smartest, after all, to collar your memories and isolate them, sedating the irascible ones, banishing the grotesques, systematizing the rest; maybe coaxing a lion into a wheeled cage on occasion and pulling...

The memory of the dead is indeed a good remorse. (Le souvenir des morts – Est bien un bon remords)

…no moment cares, and the ones you wish could stretch out like a hammock for you to lie in, well, those moments leave the quickest and take everything good with them, little burglars, those moments,...

It is, I think, the rarest of leisure, hard work mixed with hard pleasure, to refine one’s time of deep thought or light regard into the utterly self-absorbed and equally and abundantly outward-seeking shape of...

There is a point in the future where even the worst disaster starts to settle into an anecdote.

Love is inaudible—until you hear it. And once you do, you’ll never forget the sound of her voice.

A good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.

I was sad to leave, but I was also pleased to have met people outside of Sierra Leone. Because if I was to get killed upon my return, I knew that a memory of my...

Hide things everywhere. Forget about them. Find them randomly and feel surprised like a pirate finding buried treasure. Avoid scurvy. Love more.

The magic of love is that it becomes our memory which we never can forget.

Two butterflies in two socks could walk faster than I can run. A love song will jog your memory like I jog like Roger Bannister in a wheelchair.

Love allows us to remember the joy, and forget the pain. That’s why I write things down, to help me remember.

But the remembering is imperfect; the instructions for which neurons need to be gathered and how exactly they need to fire are weak and degraded, leading to a representation that is only a dim and...

Ficámos de novo sem assunto. Olhei à minha volta. O branco é triste como o negro, nunca antes o tinha sentido. (…) Não lhe acariciei a mão, nem lhe pus a minha sobre a testa,...

when a language dies, a way of understanding the world dies with it, a way of looking at the world.

You know what I think?” she says. “That people’s memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn’t matter as far as the...