In the sea of my emotions, his presence is like a pearl in the oyster. Very hard to locate, yet very precious and still beautiful.

…dark embers smolder inside me – one touch and they flare – who would have thought memory combustible, or near you bright sparks appear?…

(About the magic bathroom).If knowledge is money, and money is gold, then this is modern day Alchemy. Feces (wasted time) is turned into gold (knowledge).

Entre más recordamos, más cerca estamos de la muerte.

Changes in Meaning:Finally, chronically traumatized people lose faith that good things can happen and people can be kind and trustworthy. They feel hopeless, often believing that the future will be as bad as the past,...

Better to keep it in the old heads, where no one can see it or suspect it. We are all bits and pieces of history and literature and international law. Byron, Tom Paine, Machiavelli, or...

All is mine but nothing owned, nothing owned for memory, and mine only while I look.

I relinquished myself to existence pure and simple, thinking absolutely nothing—as if my mind were merely an echo chamber for the music, as if it contained only ether or at most a vaguely pleasant odor...

Nice farmer’s tan.

Who can be worried without the light of a memory?

Simply touching a difficult memory with some slight willingness to heal begins to soften the holding and tension around it. (74)

She has passed information to you. Figures names and facts. You have learnt nothing very much. But you have a splendid memory. It will help you when you start to learn.

A smile touches my lips when I remember both the memory of you entering my life and the memory of you leaving my life.

A sense of security, of well-being, of summer warmth pervades my memory. That robust reality makes a ghost of the present. The mirror brims with brightness; a bumblebee has entered the room and bumps against...

How prudently most men creep into nameless graves, while now and then one or two forget themselves into immortality.

The Memory of Running

Tonight I can smell the season the way it’s usually only possible to at the very first moments of its return, before you’re used to it, when you’ve forgotten its smell, then there it is...

At the time he had closed in upon himself, denying her a place of entry. She was tenacious, aggressive as a lover, had tried to prise the pieces of him apart. Only when she failed...

Of what use was memory anyway than as a template for one’s most reassuring self-deceptions!

I think it was C.S. Lewis that asked, ‘Do not most people simply drift away?’. I’ve always been a reader and for the longest time that stuck with me because I was at war with...

Memory runs along deep, fixed channels in the brain, like electricity along its conduits; only a cataclysm can make the electrons rear up in shock and slide over into another channel. The human mind seems...

I don’t want to be memorized for everyone. I want to stay real,endless and inchangeable for my parents, kids and their descendants.

I wish I could have shown you that engineheart- the system of pieces and parts that moved us forward, that moves us forward still. One day, a few weeks after my son’s death, I took...

He would have liked to know that somebody wanted to keep him alive, that someone remembered him. He used to say that we exist as long as somebody remembers us.

There are millions and billions of atoms of memory of all kinds of musical themes in me.

My mom used to say that’s why we have memory. And the opposite of memory—hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can build off our pasts and make futures.

To remember is to disengage from the present.

There’s no such thing as yesterday, he thought dully. Memory is just today, happening over and over again, stamped indelibly with regret.

The objective of learning is not necessarily to remember. It may even be salutary to forget. It is only when we forget the early pains and struggles of forming letters that we acquire the capacity...

Forgetting! It is a form of suicide, a renunciation of the only good the we truly and ineluctably possess: the past. For if joys alone were forgotten, perhaps oblivion would be justly desired. But we...

The colors of living things begin to fade with the last breath, and the soft, springy skin and supple muscle rot within weeks. But the bones sometimes remain, faithful echoes of the shape, to bear...

He was stabbed by memory, that tyrant which impinges upon our dreams and leaps at out throat as soon as we awaken.

He did not have anything on him except her thoughts, except the good times he had once shared and the bad times he so desperately wanted to forget.

I’m older now than my dad was when he was my age. Wait, that’s not right. That’s not my dad at all, that’s just some stranger hanging around in my memory.

Memory is a funny thing. When I was in the scene, I hardly paid it any mind. I never stopped to think of it as something that would make a lasting impression, certainly never imagined...

The psychoanalytic liberation of memory explodes the rationality of the repressed individual. As cognition gives way to re-cognition, the forbidden images and impulses of childhood begin to tell the truth that reason denies.

I still notice the burned house, mornings, when I walk along the beach. “Well, obviously I do not notice the house. What I notice is what remains of the house. One is still prone to...

…I had been with my father so constantly for so long that I knew less and less about him with every passing year. Every meaningful image was jumbled together with the countless moments of our...

I know what you are learning to endure. There is nothing to be done. Make sure nothing is wasted. Take notes. Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your...

The desire for glory is no different from that instinct for preservation that is common to all creatures. It is as if we enhance our being if we can gain a place in the memory...

Some people would never forget certain people, a few people would remember everyone, and most of us would mostly be forgotten.

Yves. You are goint to love him all over again when you meet him, believe me. You’re married.’ ‘I’m what? But I can’t be more than eighteen!’ ‘My son is very persuasive,’ said Saul proudly.

The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.

It’s strange how memory gets twisted and pulled like taffy in its retelling, how a single event can mean something different to everyone present.

All the products of one period have something in common; the artists who illustrate the poetry of their generation are the same artists who are employed by the big financial houses. And nothing reminds me...

…but the loss of a memory, like the omission of a phrase during reading, rather than making for uncertainty, can lead to a premature certainty.

If a woman is given only a limited amount of time to spend with the man she loves, she endures the separation by constantly recalling and reliving every moment down to the finest detail.

Memories which someday will become all beautiful when the last annoyance that encumbers them shall have faded out of our minds.

One of the poets, whose name I cannot recall, has a passage, which I am unable at the moment to remember, in one of his works, which for the time being has slipped my mind,...

People like to warn you that by the time you reach the middle of your life, passion will begin to feel like a meal eaten long ago, which you remember with great tenderness.