Every time I am looking into the depths of somebody's brain, I'm thinking, 'This is what makes a person who they are. That structure contains memories. Everything that they've ever experienced is right in there.'
Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.
The life given us, by nature is short; but the memory of a well-spent life is eternal.
Gratitude changes the pangs of memory into a tranquil joy.
Love is not simply the sum of sweet greetings and wrenching partings and kisses and embraces, but is made up more of the memory of what has happened and the imagining of what is to come.
Every man's memory is his private literature.
To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward.
Memory is the mother of all wisdom.
No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar.
An education isn't how much you have committed to memory, or even how much you know. It's being able to differentiate between what you know and what you don't.
No memory is ever alone; it's at the end of a trail of memories, a dozen trails that each have their own associations.
In solitude we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.
I heard a definition once: Happiness is health and a short memory! I wish I'd invented it, because it is very true.
If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.
There is a great good in returning to a landscape that has had extraordinary meaning in one's life. It happens that we return to such places in our minds irresistibly. There are certain villages and towns, mountains and plains that, having seen them walked in them lived in them even for a day, we keep forever in the mind's eye. They become indispensable to our well-being; they define us, and we say, I am who I am because I have been there, or there.
I have memories - but only a fool stores his past in the future.
Memories, all those little experiences make up the fabric of our lives and on balance, I wouldn't want to erase any of them, tempting though it may be.
Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume.
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.
Memory is deceptive because it is colored by today's events.
Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.
Let your memory be your travel bag.
Fifteen years ago tomorrow I had open heart surgery, a quintuple bypass surgery. Thanks to all of my doctors. Because of them, in 15 years of life I've been able to experience, well, acid reflux, short-term memory loss, and erectile dysfunction. Thanks for all your work. It's great to be alive.
Memory itself is an internal rumour.
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