In memory everything seems to happen to music.
Life is all memory except for the one present moment that goes by so quick you can hardly catch it going.
Memory is the mother of all wisdom.
What an insidious drug memory can be. Especially the memory of unhappiness.
Memory breeds in me strange loneliness.
WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH
No matter how far we travel,
the memories will follow in the baggage car.
It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.
No matter how long we exist,
we have our memories.
Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering,
some memories will yield nothing of ther beauty or their splendor.
Rather they remain as hard as gems.
A person who has not completely lost the memory of paradise,
even though it is a faint one, will suffer endlessly.
He will feel the call of the essential world, will hear the voice that comes from so far away that one cannot find out where it comes from,
a voice that cannot guide him.
What if we're all like that? Like ghosts ...
in someone's mind ...
gradually fading ...
until finally ...
one day ...
we just disappear ...
drift into nothingness.
Wouldn't that be sad?
The more you love a memory,
the stronger and stranger it is.
Memories are contrary things;
if you quit chasing them and turn your back, they often return on their own.
I was shaking all over,
and it wasn't from the vampire.
Memories have teeth, too.
LAURELL K. HAMILTON
it is a barren disease,
as empty and lifeless as a desert.
It is a thief of hearts and souls and memories.
We don't forget....
Our heads may be small,
but they are as full of memories as the sky may sometimes be full of swarming bees, thousands and thousands of memories, of smells,
of little things that happened to us and which came back,
to remind us who we are.
ALEXANDER MCCALL SMITH
Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food.
If we lose our memory,
we lose ourselves.
Forgetting is one of the symptoms of death. Without memory we cease to be human beings.
Memory is a great deceiver:
it embroiders until naught is left but the glory and the pleasure.
To an old memory like mine the present days are but as a little water poured on the deep.
My memories pale as I prevail upon them again and again.
They become more and more ghostly.
I fear nothing so much as losing them altogether and having only my blank endless mind to live in.
E. L. DOCTOROW
Man's memory shapes
Its own Eden within.
JORGE LUIS BORGES