Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future.
No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar.
If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
If you tell the truth, you don't need a long memory.
If you tell the truth you do not need a good memory!
A man of great memory without learning hath a rock and a spindle and no staff to spin.
There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.
I've said some stupid things and some wrong things, but not that. No one involved in computers would ever say that a certain amount of memory is enough for all time.
What's unique about [4chan] is that it's anonymous, and it has no memory. There's no archive, there are no barriers, there's no registration. ... That's led to this discussion that's completely raw, completely unfiltered.
If we could wake each morning with no memory of living before we went to sleep, we might arrive at a faultless day.
Powerful men in particular suffer from the delusion that human beings have no memories. I would go so far as to say that the distinguishing trait of powerful men is the psychotic certainty that people forget acts of infamy as easily as their parents birth
The moral backbone of literature is about that whole question of memory. To my mind it seems clear that those who have no memory have the much greater chance to lead happy lives.
Middle age, my boy. No memory at all.
It is not a simple life to be a single cell, although I have no right to say so, having been a single cell so long ago myself that I have no memory at all of that stage of my life.
Given the ease with which health infuses life with meaning and purpose, it is shocking how swiftly illness steals away those certainties... Time unused and only endured still vanishes, as if time itself is starving, and each day is swallowed whole, leaving no crumbs, no memory, no trace at all.
Goldfish have no memory, I guess their lives are much like mine. And the little plastic castle is a surprise everytime.
And so she comes to dream herself the tree, The wind possessing her, weaving her young veins, Holding her to the sky and its quick blue, Drowning the fever of her hands in sunlight. She has no memory, nor fear, nor hope Beyond the grass and shadows at her feet.
I have no memories I'm prepared to share with you.
To his sister-in-law: What a contrast between us! You live a warm and glowing life, surrounded by loved ones whom you care for and who care for you; you are anchored in contentment. I drift about without rudder or compass, a wreck on the sea of life; I have no memories to cheer me, no pleasant illusions of the future to comfort me, or about me to satisfy my vanity. I have no family to furnish the only kind of survival that concerns us, no friends for the wholesome development of my affections, or enemies for my malice.
An angel has no memory.
or simply: