How long has it been since I entered this blackness? Has it been days, months, or years? I’m stuck here with my mind, my thoughts, my memories, and my nightmares.
Every tomorrow is better because you opened your eyes, but still, memories from your past are meant to be shared and cherished
She smiles, and her eyes look as if they can see back into her memory, into all the things that have gone into making a person what they are.
We take creative license with the fictional narratives that become our memories. Anthologized, these are the tales that become the story of your life.
Grief keeps coming back with the same things in its hands — you know this. You know that the hands of grief are memory. Again and again, grief holds the same few things.
Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.
I am starting to think that maybe memories are like this dessert. I eat it, and it becomes a part of me, whether I remember it later or not.
They had created themselves together, and they always saw themselves, their youth, their love, their lost youth and lost love, their failures and memories, as a sort of living fiction.
Memory training is not just for the sake of performing party tricks; it's about nurturing something profoundly and essentially human.
Mother is fading for him, her face receding into shadows, her memory diminishing with each passing day, leaking like sand from a fist.
Our lives are the sum of our memories. How much are we willing to lose from our already short lives by … not paying attention?
What better way to try to begin to understand the nature and meaning of human memory than to investigate its absence?
Even now that he is gone I have him still, in the richness of my memories. I've lived my life again just telling it to you.
I warn you all, hatred is finding fertile soil within me. And in your compassion, in your every good intention, you nurture it.
After all, isn't the purpose of the novel, or of a museum, for that matter, to relate our memories with such sincerity as to transform individual happiness into a happiness all can share?
The one thing to remember about an adventure is that if it turns out the way you expect it to, it has not been an adventure at all.
I had to wonder what sadistic pleasure and entertainment human suffering must provide to the divine game players who decided the fate of their pawns in a board game they made of life.
You put cow dung on my face?’ ‘Every day religiously until you were three. Why else do you think your skin is so clear?
I wash the clothes, rinse them and then scrub them again. Will that square little box do that? I am not using any fancy machines when my hands will do.
It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.
Souls were webs of light that contained the essence of a human's life. Memories and loves, children and families. Every moment of life, pressing in
