5,121 Quotes About Memories

All of my life wishing on stars, wishing for him has finally come true... My wishes are no longer for me anymore, my wishes now have become for two.

We live in several moments, several places, at once.

She stood beside me for years, or was it a moment? I cannot remember. Maybe I loved her, Maybe I didn't. There was a house, and then no house. There were trees, but none remain. When no one remembers, what is there? You, whose moments are gone, who drift like smoke in the afterlife, tell me something, tell me anything.-Mark Strand, "In the Afterlife

REMEMBERDo you live your life according to how you want to remember it or how you will be remembered?

She had almost reached the cafe before Céleste identified Pippa, imposterish without beret and lampshade dress, her iPod shining through her pocket. At the time, it was merely something else unexpected, an element of the mildly extraordinary evening. But long after the open windows and the tiny running children had vanished, that memory of Pippa would persist. She made her way towards Céleste like a citizen of the future, her heart rectangular and glowing in the dusk.

She had wept until she was scrapped raw inside, empty but for the leaden weight of every memory of the life she had left, the grasping thorns of every choice that had brought her to this bleak and howling place. When darkness fell she poured rivers of tears into the wood and soul and stone beneath her, a well of loneliness that felt as though it would never run dry.

Forgetting is what nature does best. The universe is a huge forgetting machine. It erases information no matter how hard we try to hang onto it. How could it be any different? What if the memory of everything that ever happened still existed? The universe would be clogged with information, so packed with it we couldn’t move. We’d be paralyzed, because every moment we ever lived would still be with us. It would be hell.

It wouldn’t end too quickly. The final hours passed among memories and prayers and shadows. When he called to us, we all thought we were dreaming. It wasn’t a word we could understand, if it was a word at all. It was more a gesture, a faint entreaty, a request issued from a dream. He barely moved, if he moved at all. He barely spoke, if he spoke at all, and yet the three of us rose to our feet in response to something we may have collectively imagined.

What I cannot tough, remains a memory, I am blinded by an imagined light. A remembrance of what can never be