Beware of the corporate invasion of private memory.
It's great to reminisce about good memories of my past. It was enjoyable when it was today. So learning to enjoy today has two benefits: it gives me happiness right now, and it becomes a good memory later.
One should cultivate good habits of memory, for it is capable of making existence a Paradise or an Inferno.
We were trying to make our lives easier, trying, with all our rules, to make life effortless. But a friction began to arise between Nothing and Something, in the morning the Nothing vase cast a Something shadow, like the memory of someone you've lost, what can you say about that, at night the Nothing light spilled from the guest room spilled under the Nothing door and stained the Something hallway, there's nothing to say.
I'd rather do something than read about it. " "That's fine, but if you do it, and then can't think what it means, it's never much of a memory. Life has more to so with memories of the past and longings for the future than it ever does with *right now*. " -pg 138-9
A low self-image is usually not based upon facts; it's mismanaged memory.
It's easy to write one's memoirs when one has a terrible memory.
Everything you do, every thought you have, every word you say creates a memory that you will hold in your body. It's imprinted on you and affects you in subtle ways - ways you are not always aware of. With that in mind, be very conscious and selective.
it it strange, suddenly having a memory come back out of nowhere. you think you're going crazy; you wonder where this recollection has been hiding all your life. you try to push it away, because you think you've hammered out the whole timeline of your life, but then you see that one extra moment, and suddendly you are breaking apart what you though was a solid segment, and seeing it for what it is: just a string of events, shoulder to shoulder, and a gap where there is room for one more.
The House, being strong, should be generous. . . but the constituents have a right to more than generosity. . . . The law gives me my seat. In the name of the law I ask for it. I regret that my personality overshadows the principles involved in this great struggle; but I would ask those who have touched my life, not knowing it, who have found for me vices which I do not remember in the memory of my life, I would ask them whether all can afford to cast the first stone. . . then that, as best judges, they will vacate their own seats, having deprived my constituents of their right here to mine.
Sooner or later we all discover that the big moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these. You were born an original. Don't die a copy. There is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval. So mine's a double and I'll see you all in hell suckers!
But do not despise the lore that has come down from distant years; for oft it may chance that old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know.
Fathers and mothers, do not forget that children learn more by the eye than they do by the ear. . . Imitation is a far stronger principle with children than memory. What they see has a much stronger effect on their minds than what they are told.
Your memory is a monster; it summons with will of its own. You think you have a memory, but it has you.
Anyone who in discussion relies upon authority uses, not his understanding, but rather his memory.
When we arrive at eternity's shore Where death is just a memory and tears are no more We'll enter in as the wedding bells ring Your bride will come together and we'll sing, 'You're beautiful'
Fortunately, I've also been an electrician, and that's a happy memory for me.
One lives in the hope of becoming a memory.
Man's memory shapes Its own Eden within
A violent act pierces the atmosphere, leaving a hole through which the cold, damp draft of its memory blows forever.