Children's lives are fiendishly hard. Adults, having survived childhood, turn their minds to the future, and if they have a choice, generally retain only the rosiest of childhood memories.
Memory, so complete and clear or so evasive, has to be ended, has to be put aside, as if one were leaving a chapel and bringing the prayer to an end in one's head.
We photographers deal in things which are continually vanishing, and when they have vanished there is no contrivance on earth can make them come back again. We cannot develop and print a memory.
Was I in a nativity play? I think I was an angel; I was a very blonde child, so I tended to get typecast. I have a vague memory of wearing wings.
My earliest memories are making little Super 8 films - or watching my brother make stop-motion space spectaculars.
I've made so many people angry that they kind of blur into one unpleasant memory of people staring at you with somewhere between passive aggression and active aggression.
A typical biography relying upon individuals' notorious memories and the anecdotes they've invented contains a high degree of fiction, yet is considered 'nonfiction.'
I think that we are already making steps toward mapping out the brain so we can identify the chemical patterns that create and store memory.
Memories, impressions and emotions from the first 20 years on earth are most writers' main material; little that comes afterward is quite so rich and resonant.
Our sense of self is a kind of construct. It is in some ways like a novel, and it's like a fabric of fictions that we patch together from memory.
As I like to say, the entire collective memory of the species - that means all known and recorded information - is going to be just a few keystrokes away in a matter of years.
We don't only tell stories when we set out to tell stories, our memory tells us stories. That is, what we get to keep from our experiences is a story.
Well, I think one doesn't really have to invent this memorial space, because it is already there. And it is speaking with a voice and, you know, 4 million of us came to see the site.
I have a lot of memories of Falls Church. I went to grade school in Madison Elementary School.
One trick, known as the journey method or 'memory palace,' is to conjure up a familiar space in the mind's eye, and then populate it with images of whatever it is you want to remember.
I met with amnesiacs and savants, educators and scientists, to try to understand what memory is, why it works, why it sometimes doesn't, and what its potential might be.
Just live in the moment and drink in the love like a fine wine that leaves the memories of a million grapes ripening in the sun on the hillside of Napa Valley in the spring.
HOW CONCISE THAT YOU CAN CRY FROM AWFUL WOUNDS, DESERTION, HAPPINESS, MEMORIES, HUMILIATION, DISAPPOINTMENT OR GRANDEUR.
To be here recovers from a state of soul, from a state of mind. I have the memory of the heart. I know what I received. I must have the will to give back to others.
In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and the shame of that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold.
The past is still visible. The buildings haven't changed, the layout of the streets hasn't changed. So memory is very available to me as I walk around.
