One of the permanent possessions of the human heart is the memory of its noble enthusiasms.
There are no verdicts to childhood, only consequences, and the bright freight of memory.
Magnus didn't really want this kind of thing this early in the morning - this talk of aching memories and wanting to forget. This conversation needed to end, now.
I come not to entertain you with worldly festivities but to arouse your sleeping memory of immortality.
The false self lives mainly through memory and anticipation. Past and future are its main preoccupation.
You will have significant experiences. I hope that you will write them down and keep record of them, that you will read them from time to time and refresh your memory of those meaningful and significant things. Some may be funny. Some may be significant only to you. Some of them may be sacred and quietly beautiful. Some may build one upon another until they represent a lifetime of special experiences.
So often the most meaningful moments in our lives are those that we share with our families. Treasured memories are created by celebrating, sharing and embracing the moments of life with the people we love.
You must never forget it if that's an important memory to you. Especially when a person dies, he can only live in the memories of others.
She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes.
Memories are like holograms: you recreate in your head the whole image of something which isn't there.
How paradoxical it is to search reality for the pictures that are stored in one's memory.
All was shattered, and all but memory lost, and one memory above all others, of him who brought the Shadow and the Breaking of the World. And him they named Dragon.
The man who lies asleep will never waken fame, and his desire and all his life drift past him like a dream, and the traces of his memory fade from time like smoke in air, or ripples on a stream.
Memories of ice and Trent surfaced, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. I had saved him, and he had saved me. What was wrong with us?
People always say it's harder to heal a wounded heart than a wounded body. Bullshit. It's exactly the opposite—a wounded body takes much longer to heal. A wounded heart is nothing but ashes of memories. But the body is everything. The body is blood and veins and cells and nerves. A wounded body is when, after leaving a man you’ve lived with for three years, you curl up on your side of the bed as if there’s still somebody beside you. That is a wounded body: a body that feels connected to someone who is no longer there.
An artisan without memories, whose only dream was to die of fatigue in the oblivion and misery of his little gold fishes.
You're listening to [the songs on Random Access Memories] and they're future classics. They've brought the sound of something that's been lost for a long time.
Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.
Memory at last has what I sought.
There are some things one remembers even though they may never have happened.