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.

My biggest hope for this work is that it will help others to remember the sacrifices made for our freedom, and even more so to remember that the men, women, and children all involved in and affected...

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...

Another school declares that all time has already transpired and that our life is only the crepuscular and no doubt falsified and mutilated memory or reflection of an irrecoverable process.

Nothing's ever gone. We fool ourselves that things fade, but they never do.

I have a beautiful collection of knives but none are mine. These are deposits belonging to those who forgot them on my back.

Nobody was ever meant to remember or invent what he did with every cent.

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.

Aryami Bose's home had been closed up for years, inhabited only by books and paintings, but the spectre of thousands of memories imprisoned between its walls still permeated the house.

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...

Memory is not an instrument for exploring the past but its theatre. It is the medium of past experience, as the ground is the medium in which dead cities lie interred.

I plucked this sprig of heath; Autumn is dead, remember - don't forget We will no longer see each other on Earth Smell of time, sprig of heath And remember that I am waiting for you

Losing your co - remember meant losing the memory itself.

It has shown me that everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us... on the inside, looking out.

I never knew what sad work the reading of old - letters was before that evening, though I could hardly tell why. The letters were as happy as letters could be - at least those early letters were....

Too bad there wasn't a Valencia filter to smooth out memories.

Because who can describe the look that triggers the memory of loved ones? Who can anticipate the frown, the smile, or the misplaced lock of hair that sends a swift, undeniable signal from the past?...

This larder of memories, of sex, of life, of family that we had built up, could always be called upon in the leaner times of our relationship... Everything we had built together over twenty years was...

All great autobiography is about loss, about the hopeless but necessary quest to retrieve and control a past that forever slips away. Memory is both inspiration and burden, method and subject, the...

We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.

The only thing more painful than being an active forgetter is to be an inert rememberer.

The hundred lovers sleep forever beneath the dry earth. Andalusia has long red roads. Córdoba, green olive trees where to place a hundred crosses, that they remember them.

He remembers what I forget and I remember what he forgets. It's too late for either of us to make another old friend.

… the air is a library and a phonograph record of all lived life, of every spoken phrase, and in it, all words ever spoken still resonate.

Once upon a time wasn't as long ago as it used to be.

People always stay the age that they died at. My big brother died of leukemia when I was six. He was eight. Now when I think of him, he's always eight, and he's still my big brother. He never changes,...

Perhaps it's that you can't go back in time, but you can return to the scenes of a love, of a crime, of happiness, and of a fatal decision; the places are what remain, are what you can possess, are...

Maybe it hadn't entered my head at all. Maybe it had just brushed past me, like someone easing by in a dark room, the face lost in shadow, my thoughts lost in another conversation, though something in...