#memory

We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations. ↗

— John Banville

#death #grief #immortality #life-goes-on #loss

A lot of people mistake a short memory for a clear conscience. ↗

— Doug Larson

#clear conscience #conscience #lot #memory #mistake

All vital truth contains the memory of all that for which it is not true. ↗

— David Herbert Lawrence

#memory #true #truth #vital #which

In the cellars of the night, when the mind starts moving around old trunks of bad times, the pain of this and the shame of that, the memory of a small boldness is a hand to hold. ↗

— John Leonard

#bad #bad times #boldness #cellars #hand

The book is openly a kind of spiritual autobiography, but the trick is that on any other level it's a kind of insane collage of fragments of memory. ↗

— Jonathan Lethem

#autobiography #book #collage #fragments #insane

The past is still visible. The buildings haven't changed, the layout of the streets hasn't changed. So memory is very available to me as I walk around. ↗

— Jonathan Lethem

#available #buildings #changed #hasn #haven

I've always been fascinated by the operation of memory - the way in which it is not linear but fragmented, and its ambivalence. ↗

— Penelope Lively

#ambivalence #been #fascinated #fragmented #i

I still went to church regularly every Sunday; that is we all went there together. I reverenced the family pew where we had assembled for so many years; and apart from that reason I hold it dear because it is associated in my memory with my mother. ↗

— Pierre Loti

#assembled #associated #because #church #dear

Although computer memory is no longer expensive, there's always a finite size buffer somewhere. When a big piece of news arrives, everybody sends a message to everybody else, and the buffer fills. ↗

— Benoit Mandelbrot

#always #arrives #big #buffer #computer

It was one of those strange moments that came to him rarely, but never left. A moment that stamped itself on heart and brain, instantly recallable in every detail, for all of his life. There was no telling what made these moments different from any other, though he knew them when they came. He had seen sights more gruesome and more beautiful by far, and been left with no more than a fleeting muddle of their memory. But these-- the still moments, as he called them to himself-- they came with no warning, to print a random image of the most common things inside his brain, indelible. ↗

— Diana Gabaldon

#beauty