When I look back on my childhood, my earliest memories seem like artifacts from a long - lost civilization: half - understood fragments behind museum glass.

Stories weren't just make believe, all Dr. Seuss and Mother Goose. I saw a circle: first life, then death. Spring, summer, fall, winter. Blue sky and storms and quilts of cold clouds occupy the same...

They have both loved you with a child's love, and now a man's. It is the child's love that holds you together ... cemented by the moments you shared with them that they treasure most.

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,...

They live in human memory, man. That's what keeps them alive.

Sometimes people go but the memories stay in our memories...

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

I will not exorcise you - I'd miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair

Time laughs in the distance as I cling to the belief memories of you will fade.

But kind of like when you move something on a wall after it's been there for a long time, and its place is bright but everything around it is faded - that's how I feel about her. She wasn't there very...

I am suspended in the moment. Flickering images faded with age, frozen thoughts hovering precariously in dead space, a whirlwind of memories that slice through my soul.

I'm thinking about past events. I'm interested in recall, exact recall, of what was said, who said it and to whom. I want to know the truth, undistorted by time and revision and wishes and regrets.

Since childhood, I was afflicted with a sick hypersensitivity, and my imagination quickly turned everything into a memory, too quickly: sometimes one day was enough, or an interval of a few hours, or...

If there's one thing I've still got, it's my memory. Which is too bad. Maybe if I forgot things once in a while, we'd all be a little bit happier.

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.

What are any of our lives but the shapes we force them into. Memory doesn't come to us of its own; we go after it, pull it into sunlight and make of it what we need, what we're driven towards, what we...

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,...

That's why you have to go and guilt him for all the trouble. It can't be your fault that you lost your memory if he wasn't smart enough to tell you about the wine.

Maybe that's who you are, what you remember.

Memories are as infinite as the horizon.

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...

I cannot remember you when the rain flows down - I cannot remember you and my heart begins to drown ...

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.

You mustn't throw them away. Let me have them.