Memory, even in the rest of us, is a shifting, fading, partial thing, a net that doesn’t catch all the fish by any means and sometimes catches butterflies that don’t.
Footfalls echo in the memory down the passage we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose garden. My words echo thus, in your mind
I always think everything is going to last forever, but nothing ever does. In fact nothing exists longer than an instant except the thing that we hold in memory
...every time I look at you autumn leaves come in between - does it matter they're the color of your hair - or they still fall in my memory?...
[...]my memory is reasonably good—unlike yours, dear sir!” “Mine is erratic,” he said imperturbably. “I remember only what interests me.
Sometimes I dream that I'm writing a memoir. A memoir would just be the thing to keep me in the hearts and memories of my adoring public.
The instant is gone, time has carried us into the realm of memory, it was like this, no, it was not, and everything becomes what we choose to invent.
Sometimes Midas suspected that life was a film with subliminal messages. Things would move along with an acceptable degree of predictability, then be punctuated by some horrible childhood memory.
The double-crossed, might-have-been history of my country is not the study of what actually took place here: it's the study of historians' studies. . . . Memories are their own descendants masquerading as the ancestors of the present.
[...] the first lesson about the nature of memory: what you wish to forget, you may not be able to. What seems to have died, perhaps is just asleep.
It is then he realises that certain things loom larger than forgiveness and reconciliation: memory, for one, and history, bloody history.
Don't talk to me." "Why not?" "Because I want to fix that in my memory for ever. Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret...
I am grateful, and would thank the Gods(if there were any to thank) that I have finally mastered this art of forgetting--of murdering the memory.
...someone ought to invent a tool, a kind of plane to shave the lies away from stories and deception away from memories. I'm a collector of shavings.
You have a... remarkable memory." "I remember everything about you. You're the one who wasn't paying attention.
(memory is) A strange echo, which stores its replicas according to some other acoustic than consciousness or expectation.
Your soul is the priestess of memory, selecting, sifting, and ultimately gathering your vanishing days toward presence.
But unshed tears can turn rancid. So can memory. So can biting your tongue. My bad nights were beginning. I couldn't sleep.
I don’t believe in coincidence or fate But I know one thing for sure Your face was meant to be Burned into the deepest reaches Of my blackest memories.
I cannot stress this enough: do not take powerful hallucinogens before going to a Holocaust memorial.
Sincerity and gravity, in Magnus's opinion, were highly overrated, as was being forced to relive unpleasant memories. He would much rather be amused and amusing.
