I really cherish the memories I have of my trips. For some reason, when you travel, it's like your mind picks up on the fact that this is something uncharacteristic, so it tunes in more acutely and...

Whenever I think of my birthplace, Walton-on-Thames, my reference first and foremost is the river. I love the smell of the river; love its history, its gentleness. I was aware of its presence from my...

At the age of 12 I won the school prize for Best English Essay. The prize was a copy of Somerset Maugham's 'Introduction To Modern English And American Literature.' To this day I keep it on the shelf...

It isn't so astonishing the number of things that I can remember as the number of things I can remember that aren't so.

Even in death she was more beautiful to him than she ever was alive.

Give full attention to life's moments and the images you capture will be everlasting.

I wiped my hands on my apron and went to the window. Outside, the prairie reached out and touched the places where the sky came down. Though the winter was nearly over, there were patches of snow and...

He was in a strange, badly lit room, wearing even stranger clothes, getting an earful from an unknown woman, in a language that he could and couldn't exactly place in a very disturbing way. These were...

I remember a new heaviness in my body, but maybe that's the work of time and my looking back.

I'll try to be around and about. But if I'm not, then you know that I'm behind your eyelids, and I'll meet you there

We all have our safe places, where none are invited. They are lonely rooms full of the musk of memory. Sanctuary rather than adventure.

Whenever we look at a photograph, the memories in the photograph become our memories as well!

Remembering our loved ones is breathing life into their fading images, that we might once more see their faces and pass along a tearful I miss you.

Memories are powerful that way. They can bring back to another place and time and make them laugh or cry all over again.

You live through each memory you have hidden inside me. Through the places, we had been to and through the songs, which only we have sung and heard. Every night, I lie down and look at the sky gazing...

I need to remember what they look like. I try to hold them still behind my eyes, their faces, like pictures in an album. But they won't stay still for me, they move, there's a smile and it's gone,...

That is my story. Believe what you will. I remember it all

More fundamentally, I'm interested in memory because it's a filter through which we see our lives, and because it's foggy and obscure, the opportunities for self-deception are there. In the end, as a...

I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.

The easy assumption that we have remembered the most important people and events and have preserved the most valuable evidence is immediately trumped by our inability to know what we have forgotten.

Time, the thing we can't beat back... Yet, time is also what it takes to heal, what it takes for certain memory cells to die. Maybe time doesn't heal. Maybe it doesn't even pass. We pass through time,...

In the space of solitude, a writer attempts to remember how they became whom they are but nobody's memory is up to this demanding task. No matter how much a person harrows the fertile lanes of memory,...

Can we account for instinct?' said Monte Cristo. 'Are there not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? - why, we cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections - an idea which carries you back to...

I do not know, nor do I care to remember The time in which I knew distinctly that you were gone You fade in and out of memory Upon which I can not feign to touch Or feel How cruel to leave me With...

Memory fills my night Help make my pain and memories light In your arms I find comfort Guide me in my days Hold me in Thy arms Help me Lord, this night

For she was the only one, of all of them, to have spared me a pleasant word; and suddenly I longed for time to pass, not for its own sake, but as it would take me back to her.

Can these signs and symbols still speak? Images, memories, stories, and objects all carry the past into the present. As we think about these messages from the past, we might wonder, too, about what...

I run my finger along the crease of the envelope, feel the weight of history inside. Wherever I'm going next, these are coming with me.

And then this happened. And then this other thing happened. Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you about the time this happened. I should've had this book over for a cup of coffee and a chat.

When you get down to the bottom of it, only about half of what we remember really happened. We tend to modify things to make ourselves look better in our own eyes and in the eyes of others. Then, if...