#memory

From key signature to coda, from downbeat to the sound of life's final fermata, our pasts set the tone for all that was, that is, and that ever would be. ↗

— Jamie A. Hughes

#music #past #poetry #life

They, like me, like all of us, had, once upon a time, in a past so far away it seemed like heaven, caught by chance a glimpse of an inner essence, only to forget what it was. It was this lost memory that pained us, reduced us to ruins, though still we struggled to be ourselves. ↗

— Orhan Pamuk

#memory #life

Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lost ↗

— Kevin Arnold

#love #memory #love

Will I see you at all?” He shook his head. But he couldn’t yet make himself move away. He was unwilling to relinquish his hold on her, unwilling to say that final good-bye. He held her for a minute, then two, then three, simply holding her and committing to memory what he could not have in life. There was a sweet, comforting scent to her. His memory was very, very good, but she was better. He only loosened his grip when he feared he might not be able to let go of her at all. ↗

— Courtney Milan - Unraveled

#life

This evening, which I have tried to spirit away, is a strange burden to me. While time moves on, while the day will soon end and I already wish it gone, there are men who have entrusted all their hopes to it, all their love and their last efforts. There are dying men or others who are waiting for a debt to come due, who wish that tomorrow would never come. There are others for whom the day will break like a pang of remorse; and others who are tired, for whom the night will never be long enough to give them the rest that they need. And I - who have lost my day - what right do I have to wish that tomorrow comes? ↗

— Alain-Fournier

#existentialism #memory #temporality #time #love

The future reshapes the memory of the past in the way it recalibrates significance: some episodes are advanced, others lose purchase. ↗

— Gregory Maguire

#memory #mind #mind-games #men

...the very old men [...] believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps, confusing time with its mathematical progression, as the old do, to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottle-neck of the most recent decade of years. ↗

— William Faulkner

#past #time #men

I became skilled at covering my tracks, filling in the blanks. Sometimes the blanks were never filled. At other times, I would recall places where I had been or things I had done as if from a dream, which made the playback of my father and other men abusing me seem I even less real, fantasies conjured up from my imagination I not my memory. Perhaps somebody else’s memory. I didn’t think of myself as having mental-health problems. You don’t at sixteen. I thought of myself as being special, highly strung, moody. ↗

— Alice Jamieson

#amnesia #dissociation #dissociative #dissociative-identity-disorder #incest

Let my body dwell in poverty, and my hands be as the hands of the toiler; but let my soul be as a temple of remembrance where the treasures of knowledge enter and the inner sanctuary is hope. ↗

— George Eliot

#knowledge #memory #poverty #work #poverty

He had a clear, lyrical voice and his songs remained in her ears long after the music had ended. ↗

— Hiroko Sherwin

#music #voice #music