5,121 Quotes About Memories

J'ai effacé des souvenirs qui ne me servent à rien dans l'être que je veux construire.

All things are forgotten in the end

Nhưng thương nhớ kì lạ lắm. Có những đêm không ngủ, nằm nghe tiếng mưa rơi, tôi cố nhớ lại nét mặt của người thương, mà không hiểu tại sao con mắt, miệng cười và mớ tóc xoã trên hai bờ vai tròn trĩnh lại lu mờ như thể chìm đắm trong khói sóng. Mà trái lại có những kỉ niệm rất bé nhỏ, rất tầm thường lại hiện ra rõ rệt, không suy suyển một li trong trí óc của người nặng nợ lưu li, nằm buồn trong gác nhỏ ngâm câu thơ nhớ vợ.

As we count up the memories from one journey, we head off on another.Remembering those who went ahead. Remembering those who will follow after.And someday, we will meet all those people again, out beyond the horizon.

Your kind’s memories are tricky things,” she said finally. “They are like oil paintings. Even the first draft is an impression, an imperfect recreation of the event itself. Yet each time you access those memories, you paint a new layer overtop the old, adding small changes and tweaks. Those alterations grow and compound on themselves over time until the current painting almost doesn’t resemble the original.

I have not thought of that boy—Joey—for many years; but I see him quite clearly tonight. It was several years ago. I was still in my teens, he was about my age, give or take a year. He was a very nice boy, too, very quick and dark, and always laughing. For a while he was my best friend. Later, the idea that such a person could have been my best friend was proof of some horrifying taint in me. So I forgot him. But I see him very well tonight.

Truly, we had had a delectable summer; and, having had it, it was ours forever. "The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts." They may rob us of our future and embitter our present, but our past they may not touch. With all its laughter and delight and glamour it is our eternal possession.

“You’re staying with me?” I ask, surprised. “You can go back to the skate park, Ry. I’m fine here.”“Nah. Rem and Ry for life, remember?” he says, bumping my fist with his and finishing the secret handshake we made up a few years back.“Thank you. For everything.”“It’s no big deal."But it was to me. That’s the real Ryan. Fiercely loyal and scary as hell.

To rise again - to be the same person that you were - you must have your memory perfectly fresh and present; for it is memory that makes your identity. If your memory be lost, how will you be the same man? Why do mankind flatter themselves that they alone are gifted with a spiritual and immortal principle? Perhaps from their inordinate vanity. I am persuaded that if a peacock could speak he would boast of his soul, and would affirm that it inhabited his magnificent tail.