Memories Quotes - Page 38

• We lose everything because everything remains except us. And therefore any form of posterity may be an affront, and perhaps any memory, as well.

  Javier Marías

  May, Form, Affront

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• I would be mute, beautiful, changless as the earth for you. I would be your memory, without age, always innocent, always waiting in the King's white house. I would do that for you and no other man inthe relm. But it would be a lie and I will do anything but lie to you - I swear that.

  Patricia A. McKillip

  Beautiful, Kings, Lying

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• Thus is our treaty written; thus is agreement made. Thought is the arrow of time; memory never fades. What was asked is given; the price is paid.

  Robert Jordan

  Agreement, Arrows, Made

  Robert Jordan (2010). “The Shadow Rising: Book Four of 'The Wheel of Time'”, p.410, Macmillan

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• And, as always happens, and happens far too soon, the strange and wonderful becomes a memory and a memory becomes a dream. Tomorrow it's gone.

  Terry Pratchett

  Dream, Loss, Gone

  Terry Pratchett (2008). “Wintersmith: (Discworld Novel 35)”, p.360, Random House

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• When his brain died, all of the memories held in his gray matter, along with all of the knowledge he had acquired, would simply evaporate in a flood of chemical reactions.

  Dan Brown

  Gray Matter, Brain, Chemical Reactions

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• A story begins with this nebulous feeling that’s hard to get a hold of and you’re testing your feelings and assumptions, testing what you believe. They end up turning into keepsakes and mementos –like amber in which a memory gets trapped.

  Michael Chabon

  Believe, Feelings, Amber

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• It wasn't that I forgot Hanna. But at a certain point the memory of her stopped accompanying me wherever I went. She stayed behind, the way a city stays behind as a train pulls out of the station. It's there, somewhere behind you, and you could go back and make sure of it. But why should you?

  Bernhard Schlink

  Cities, Way, Behind You

  FaceBook post by Bernhard Schlink from Jul 13, 2011

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• Jace's eyes sparkled, but he said calmly, "Not at all. the Silent Brothers can help her retrieve her memories." "You hate the Silent Brothers," protested Isabelle. "I don't hate them," said Jace candidly."I'm afraid of them. It's not the same thing." "I thought you said they were libarians," said Clary. "They are librarians." Simon whistled. "Those must be some killer late fees.

  Cassandra Clare

  Brother, Hate, Eye

  Cassandra Clare (2007). “City of Bones”, Margaret K. McElderry Books

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• Simon!” The voice was Clary’s. He would know it anywhere. He wondered if his mind was conjuring it up now, a sense memory of what he’d most loved during life to carry him through the process of death. “Simon, you stupid idiot! I’m over here! At the window!” Simon jumped to his feet. He doubted his mind would conjure that up.

  Cassandra Clare

  Stupid, Voice, Feet

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “City of Glass”, p.265, Simon and Schuster

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• At some point, your memories, your stories, your adventures, will be the only things you'll have left.

  Chuck Palahniuk

  Adventure, Stories, Left

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• Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.

  Neil Gaiman

  Together, Events, Details

  "Smoke and Mirrors". Book by Neil Gaiman, October, 1998.

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• ...this time I didn't launch into my usual tirade. Was it a memory of Krishna, the cool silence with which he countered disagreement, that stopped me? I saw something I hadn't realized before: words wasted energy.

  Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

  Silence, Energy, Usual

  Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (2009). “The Palace of Illusions: A Novel”, p.30, Anchor

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• There were times when I lifted my face to the sky, stretched my arms wide to the winter night, and laughed out loud, so happy was I. The memory of it makes me laugh now, but not from happiness. Be careful what you show the world. You never know when the wolf is watching.

  Jennifer Donnelly

  Winter, Night, Sky

  Jennifer Donnelly (2015). “Revolution”, p.157, Bloomsbury Publishing

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• But what is memory if not the language of feeling, a dictionary of faces and days and smells which repeat themselves like the verbs and adjectives in a speech, sneaking in behind the thing itself,into the pure present, making us sad or teaching us vicariously.

  Julio Cortazar

  Teaching, Smell, Feelings

  Julio Cortazar (2016). “Hopscotch, Blow-Up, We Love Glenda So Much”, p.143, Everyman's Library

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• Memory is not what the heart desires. That is only a mirror, be it clear as Kheled-zaram. Or so says the heart of Gimli the Dwarf.

  J. R. R. Tolkien

  Heart, Dwarves, Mirrors

  J.R.R. Tolkien (2012). “The Fellowship of the Ring: Being the First Part of The Lord of the Rings”, p.267, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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• Oh! Stars and clouds and winds, ye are all about to mock me; if ye really pity me, crush sensation and memory; let me become as nought; but if not, depart, depart, and leave me in darkness.

  Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

  Crush, Stars, Clouds

  Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley (2014). “Frankenstein: or, the Modern Prometheus”, p.153, First Avenue Editions

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• My head was level with hers as we stared at each other from opposite sides of the glass. I don't remember how it ended - if I went to bed or she did. In my memory, it doesn't end. We just stay there, looking at each other, forever.

  John Green

  Glasses, Opposites, Forever

  John Green (2013). “Paper Towns”, p.8, A&C Black

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• Sidonie, I know you don't remember it, but you once promised to trust me beyond all reason. And I swear to you that all that I am, all that I possess, including this gem-stone, is yours. I need you. I can't do this alone. Forget your memories. Look into your heart. And if you can find somewhere there, some lingering spark of trust that owes naught to reason, I beg you to speak the word written here.

  Jacqueline Carey

  Heart, Needs, Looks

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• And yet, even as she spoke, she knew that she did not wish to come back. not to stay, not to live. She loved the little yellow cottage more than she loved any place on earth. but she was through with it except in her memories.

  Maud Hart Lovelace

  Yellow, Wish, Cottages

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• I doubt if I shall ever have time to read the book again -- there are too many new ones coming out all the time which I want to read. Yet an old book has something for me which no new book can ever have -- for at every reading the memories and atmosphere of other readings come back and I am reading old years as well as an old book.

  Lucy Maud Montgomery

  Book, Reading, Years

  Lucy Maud Montgomery (1992). “The Selected Journals of L.M. Montgomery: 1921-1929”, Oxford University Press, USA

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• I understood that there was no escaping the memories, that I was surround by them. (p.30)

  Milan Kundera

  Escaping, Understood, Surround

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• Sometimes it seems especially difficult to submit to "great tribulation" when we look around and see others seemingly much less obedient who triumph even as we weep. But time is measured only unto man, says Alma (see Alma 40:8), and God has a very good memory.

  Jeffrey R. Holland

  Men, Triumph, Looks

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• Hugo attacked me." Clary tried not to wince as the astringent liquid stung her wounds. Hugo?" Luke blinked. Hodge's bird. I think it was his bird, anyway. Maybe it was Valentine's." Hugin," Luke said softly. "Hugin and Munin were Valentine's pet birds. Their names mean 'Thought' and 'Memory.'" Well they should mean 'Attack' and 'Kill,'" said Clary. "Hugo almost tore my eyes out.

  Cassandra Clare

  Valentine, Mean, Eye

  Cassandra Clare (2010). “Cassandra Clare: The Mortal Instrument Series (3 books): City of Bones; City of Ashes; City of Glass”, p.351, Simon and Schuster

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• Vision sometimes comes in a memory.

  Marilynne Robinson

  Vision, Sometimes

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• Everyone has two memories. The one you can tell and the one that is stuck to the underside of that, the dark, tarry smear of what happened.

  Amy Bloom

  Dark, Two, Stuck

  Amy Bloom (2007). “Away: A Novel”, p.44, Random House

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