I'd drown in a sea of tears if I lived my life ruminating on the past. I would undoubtedly revise memories to be more joyful that they were, or ever have been.
Every moment of my life has a soundtrack, so I never know when some song is going to jump me by surprise and bring the memory alive.
People in day-to-day life tend to skim the surface of things and be polite and careful, and that's not the language I speak. I like talking about feelings, fears and memories, anguish and joy, and I find it in music.
You're trying to put yourself in that moment and trying to prepare yourself, to have a 'memory before the game. I don't know if you'd call it visualising or dreaming, but I've always done it, my whole life.
I like problems at the borders of disciplines. One of the reasons that neurobiology of learning and memory appeal to me so much was that I liked the idea of bringing biology and psychology together.
I'd love to follow the Tour de France one day. It's a really exciting spectacle. I've only seen it once as it was coming into Paris and that was very exciting for me. I have memories of that.
Memory has always fascinated me. Think of it. You can recall at will your first day in high school, your first date, your first love.
I was loved as a kid; I was raised with more love and emotional support than most folks could wish for... my memories aged nought to ten... are all bound up together in a mesh of innocence and fun.
From the time you are a tiny baby, a parent's love is usually unconditional. Whatever you do, your parents think you are the tops, but when their memory goes, you stop recouping the love you've put in.
No self is of itself alone. It has a long chain of intellectual ancestors. The "I" is chained to ancestry by many factors… This is not mere allegory, but an eternal memory.
Memory lived not in initial possession but in the freed hands, pardoned and freed, and in the heart that can empty but fill again, in the patterns restored by dreams.
Withdraw, like a turtle, into a hard yet harmless shell, ornamented with beautiful memories of the past. from the book 'I Know Who You Are!
Memory is often - perhaps usually - a distorting lens: what we think we remember isn't the way it was at all. It's what we'd like to remember.
One of my earliest memories is of bashing the keyboard with my hands, my chubby little baby hands, and I remember the sound hitting my face. It became my toy.
I have asked to have no funeral, and no memorial service. I hate other people's and would certainly not appreciate my own.
There are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.
I don't like hawking 'round other people's memories. That wasn't part of the deal when I was born.
For me, returning to Los Angeles annihilates the memories of where I have just been with an astonishing speed.
Dan kerinduan pagi pada matari memberi jejak pada puisi yang resah senantiasa, memanjati dinding hari dalam dekapan memori, menanti takdir berikutnya bagi cinta tanpa spasi ini
There’s no such thing as yesterday, he thought dully. Memory is just today, happening over and over again, stamped indelibly with regret.
There are too many books I haven't read, too many places I haven't seen, too many memories I haven't kept long enough.
