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Memory Quotes

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Memory Quotes

“The Sleeping I have imagined all this: In 1940 my parents were in love And living in the loft on West 10th Above Mark Rothko who painted cabbage roses On their bedroom walls the night they got married. I can guess why he did it. My mother’s hair was the color of yellow apples And she wore a velvet hat with her pajamas. I was not born yet. I was remote as starlight. It is hard for me to imagine that My parents made love in a roomful of roses And I wasn’t there. But now I am. My mother is blushing. This is the wonderful thing about art. It can bring back the dead. It can wake the sleeping As it might have late that night When my father and mother made love above Rothko Who lay in the dark thinking Roses, Roses, Roses.”

“When I fell, I instantly had my "Oh, That's Why" realization and I would have known not to rollerskate through the house again, even if I had been alone. There is a loss of dignity that a child experiences when they've just suffered the consequences of something they were warned against by the Wiser One while the Wiser One gloats for being wiser, especially when the gloating is packaged as anger. But I was too young to examine gloating or anger or wisdom and she, the mother of a timid child who rarely got hurt, had not had many opportunities to consider the vulnerable state of an injured kid. We were both green and hurt and scared in this new way, together. As an adult, it helps me to view my mom as a singular woman beyond her role in my life, but also, as a child herself who does not, in fact, possess knowledge of all things. Our mother-daughter relationship was this huge, life-altering thing that we are both experiencing for the first time, at the same rate and we don't have answers, we only have things that we're trying out. This was true for my grandmother too; she was learning to be alive for the first time.”

“They expected the crowd that had already gathered, golden in the torchlight of dawn. Some were tired. Some were smiling. The latter stunned Isaiah, but not Samuel. These were people after all. There was, therefore, some kind of happiness to be found in someone else being humiliated for once. Failure of memory prevented the empathy that should have been natural. Samuel knew, though, that it was selective memory, the kind that was cultivated here among the forget-me-nots.”

“Everything that is tearing us down today will become a memory, and this memory will be shared as an anecdote or a story or a poem or a play or a warning. It will be shared with another human being, who will then understand that he is not alone in his sadness. This is why we show up for others and tell our tales and listen to others. The great congregation meets daily, and you are someone’s angel today. (In an Interview with James Grissom)”

“She had wanted to break. She had wanted, for one desperate moment, to let herself shatter into a thousand pieces, to reach out and fall apart. She knew he would have been there, welcomed that. But she was afraid that if she broke, she would not know how to put herself back together. So she had stopped it. When the cracks were spreading just wide enough for everything to crumble, Ari had sealed them back up, pulled herself together, and moved on.”

“I know he wasn’t perfect… But he did the best impression of it I’ve ever seen.”

“If water could talk, there'd be some trace of all these years. It would tell of all it had taught him. How the lightest, most transparent things are heavy. How much effort it takes to contain what cannot be held; water runs through your fingers, so you find yourself empty-handed and still thirsty. But as water has no memory, no trace of his rage and loneliness will remain. He has lost those years forever.”

“Someone pumps sentences into my brain, long-forgotten images from childhood; meaningless objects and conversations peel layers from my heart. I am again a river faun, paralyzed by longing for a river nymph. I walk through wolframic space, my mouth and nose threaded with wire, and whenever I deviate from my course, I feel a sharp pain in my jaws.”

“Una parola specifica in norreno che dica 'mito' propriamente non esiste, potrebbe essere 'accadimento' oppure 'storia' o 'saga': per Snorri, ci sembra, quella che più si avvicina all'essenza del mito è la parola per 'ricordo', 'ricordare'. È sorprendente come riappaia più volte nella narrazione il 'ricordo' degli dèi: gli dèi si adunano e parlano e rammemorano quanto è avvenuto o quanto essi hanno compiuto, e questo par costituire agli occhi del narratore l'atto più proprio del loro sacro consesso. Il memorare, quasi che il ricordo costituisca un atto di vera e propria creazione, o forse, più pianamente, l'unico mezzo di conferma della realtà o verità cui riferirsi nella sconcertante poliedricità delle apparenze. Il ricordo è così l'unica vera esperienza del mito, il tempo del mito e la prospettiva della memoria secolare dell'uomo fino alla sua origine divina.”

“It is hard to remember.” “Remember what?” “All that goes into the making of any one moment we live. There are things one must try to remember. Do you know what is the hardest thing to remember?” “No,” Adam said. “Well, I’ll tell you, my son,” Aaron Blaustein said. “The hardest thing to remember is that other men are men.” He leaned to set his cup down. “But that,” he said, “is the only way you can be a man yourself. Can be anything.”

“The Dark Cloud Is the memory bank you have which time does not seem to heal Is the speed with which you block men who lie that they care about how you feel Is the questioning of where society is going and whether our icy coldness will lead us to complete destruction Is the stock market obsession some of us have and how we crave calculated instruction”

“I still remember that feeling of walking somewhere confidently, seeing him mid stride and putting my foot down just fine… but feeling like I stumbled.”

“She ran her fingers over the smooth stone and then tilted her head to look up at the sky, breathing slowly, as if she could smell and taste the stars in her lungs and on her tongue. They would be cool, she imagined, and crisp before breaking sweet under her teeth, like a honeycomb cracking open to ooze out its golden-yellow syrup. Dav had liked to think of touching the stars, of one day rising to live among them, but never had they considered together how they would taste. She shut her eyes. She wished she could ask him and wondered, like she did every night, what he would think of her now.”

“I hate running into people. They take the random places. That door over there. Fuck that door. It was an hour before class on the first day and Justin came out right as I was walking in. Bumped in and scared the ba- Jesus out of me and every time I walked into that door, I remembered him. For four years that space belonged to that moment. It’s like everywhere we walk, all we see internally is a landmark of people and moments you’ll never have again.”

“Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the moment back as its uncategorized, preprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.”

“Meanwhile Appu-Kili had caught a dragonfly and with nimble fingers slipped a lasso round its tail. Abida looked at the dragonfly, into its eyes of a thousand crystals. The eyes shone dully with the chronicles of the dead. If dragonflies were memories of the dead, as they believed in Khasak, whose then was this memory? Perhaps it was her mother’s pining images of sin and regret and drowning. The crystal eyes fell on her.”

“فراگیرندگان بزرگسال خصوصیات منحصر به فرد خود را دارند. ما در حد زیادی ساخته و پرداخته ی زندگی گذشته ی خود هستیم. به بیان دیگر رفتار و عکس العمل فعلی ما نتیجه ی یادگیری و تجربه ی گذشته مان است. یادگیری گاه به عنوان فرایندی که تغییر نسبتاً دائمی در رفتار ما به وجود می آورد تعریف شده است؛ یعنی توانایی و کارایی ما نتیجه ی برخوردهای گذشته ی ما با محیط است.”

“فرد بزرگسال در نتیجه ی برخورد و تعامل با محیط خارج و کسب تجربیات روزانه از طرق مختلف و بی شمار موفق به یادگیری تصادفی و یا اتفاقی می شود و در نتیجه اندوخته ی جدیدی کسب می کند. ما به طرق بی شماری مطالب را فرا گرفته ود به جمع آوری عقاید، حقایق و مهارت هایی می پردازیم که در نتیجه ی تماس روزانه مان با محیط کسب شده است. شغل منبع اصلی یادگیری اتفاقی است. برای روشن شدن بهتر مسئله به این مثال توجه کنید که قبول نقش مادری در آغاز زندگی ایجاب می کند که زنان با مسائلی نظیر نحوه ی تعویض لباس نوزاد، استره لیزه کردن شیشه شیر بچه، تشخیص علائم آبله و سرخک و چگونگی انتخاب لباس مناسب مثلا برای بچه ی سه ساله آشنا شوند.”

“فردی که تحت تأثیر نظرات سایرین و خودپنداری حاصل از این نظرات از درگیری در هر فرصت آموزشی بیمناک و در جهت تحقق بخشیدن به توانایی های بالقوه ی خود مأیوس است. چنین فردی نیازمند آن است که با احتیاط کامل به وی کمک و دلگرمی داده شود تا شاید بخشی از صدمات روحی اش ترمیم شود و حرکتی به سوی تحقق توانایی های بالقوه در وی ایجاد گردد و بیشتر آن کسی شود که می تواند باشد.”