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Memory Quotes

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Memory Quotes

“In response to threat and injury, animals, including humans, execute biologically based, non-conscious action patterns that prepare them to meet the threat and defend themselves. The very structure of trauma, including activation, dissociation and freezing are based on the evolution of survival behaviors. When threatened or injured, all animals draw from a "library" of possible responses. We orient, dodge, duck, stiffen, brace, retract, fight, flee, freeze, collapse, etc. All of these coordinated responses are somatically based- they are things that the body does to protect and defend itself. It is when these orienting and defending responses are overwhelmed that we see trauma. The bodies of traumatized people portray "snapshots" of their unsuccessful attempts to defend themselves in the face of threat and injury. Trauma is a highly activated incomplete biological response to threat, frozen in time. For example, when we prepare to fight or to flee, muscles throughout our entire body are tensed in specific patterns of high energy readiness. When we are unable to complete the appropriate actions, we fail to discharge the tremendous energy generated by our survival preparations. This energy becomes fixed in specific patterns of neuromuscular readiness. The person then stays in a state of acute and then chronic arousal and dysfunction in the central nervous system. Traumatized people are not suffering from a disease in the normal sense of the word- they have become stuck in an aroused state. It is difficult if not impossible to function normally under these circumstances.”

MindBodyFearHealingMental HealthMemoryTerrorTraumaMental IllnessTreatmentPtsdFrozenOverwhelmedFreezeTraumatizedHealing TraumaPosttraumatic Stress DisorderFrozen In TimeFight Flight
Author:Peter A. Levine
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“I had written to Ted about the scores of women who had contacted me about their "encounters" with him, although I didn't give specific times or names or places. I commented that he would have had to been superhuman to have been everywhere people "remembered" him. There had been a flurry in the press when campers found a tree in Sanpete County, Utah, with Ted Bundy's name carved in it, and the date: "'78." "I too am familiar with the phenomena of Ted Bundy sightings," he wrote. "Tells you a lot about the reliability of eye-witness identification, doesn't it. Eye-witness id [sic] is the most inherently unreliable evidence used in court. It also tells you a lot about fear.”

FearMemoryEncountersRemembranceIdentificationSuperhuman
Book:The Stranger Beside Me: Ted Bundy: The Shocking Inside Story
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“I think that what has kept the world safe from the bomb since 1945 has not been a deterrence, in the sense of fear of specific weapons, so much as it’s been memory,” [Hersey] said in 1986, in a rare interview. “The memory of what happened at Hiroshima.”

FearWeaponsMemoryWeapons Of Mass DestructionAtomic BombJohn Hersey
Book:Fallout: The Hiroshima Cover-up and the Reporter Who Revealed It to the World
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“This naked moment may well be apprehended with greater acuity in retrospect, but how can we know if what we view in hindsight will ever have truly been? The uncertainty of it is frightening—but maybe, at the same time, we need not look upon it as a crisis of the human condition. Assimilating this irresoluteness may indeed be our greatest capacity. To live in this perpetual bewilderment and without respite is to be honest, even genuine, with oneself. Perhaps we must embrace the disinterested nature of our anxiety even if we know that it is contrastingly woven from competing threads of self-interest. It is sad that we cannot trust what our senses tell us, trust the information we are given. Or maybe it is beautiful if you see an aesthetic to the indecipherable, to the very thought that even the tiniest shard of logic may pierce at us whilst yet eluding us.”

DoubtLogicMemoryUnknownMoment Of Being
Author:Ashim Shanker
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“I don't pay much attention to the distinction between fantasy and science fiction–or between “genre” and “mainstream” for that matter. For me, all fiction is about prizing the logic of metaphors-which is the logic of narratives in general–over reality, which is irreducibly random and senseless. We spend our entire lives trying to tell stories about ourselves–they’re the essence of memory. It is how we make living in this unfeeling accidental universe tolerable. That we call such a tendency “the narrative fallacy” doesn’t mean it doesn’t also touch upon some aspect of the truth. Some stories simply literalize their metaphors a bit more explicitly.”

StoriesRealityTruthFictionFantasyLogicScience FictionMemoryMetaphorNarrativeGenreMainstream
Book:The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories
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“All the products of one period have something in common; the artists who illustrate the poetry of their generation are the same artists who are employed by the big financial houses. And nothing reminds me so much of the monthly parts of Notre-Dame de Paris, and of various books by Gérard de Nerval, that used to hang outside the grocer's door at Combray, than does, in its rectangular and flowery border, supported by recumbent river-gods, a 'personal share' in the Water Company.”

ArtMemoryCommerce
Book:In the shadow of young girls in flower
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“All right," I said, still wishing we could talk about Zima rather than me. "But what practical difference does it make whether the artificial memory is inside my head or outside?" "All the difference in the world," Zima said. "The memories stored in the AM are fixed for eternity. You can query it as often as you like, but it will never enhance or omit a single detail. But the implants work differently. They're designed to integrate seamlessly with biological memory, to the point where the recipient can't tell the difference. For that very reason they're necessarily plastic, malleable, subject to error and distortion." "Fallible," I said. "But without fallibility there is no art. And without art there is no truth.”

ArtTruthMemory
Book:Zima Blue and Other Stories
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“Whatever you now find weird, ugly, uncomfortable and nasty about a new medium will surely become its signature. CD distortion, the jitteriness of digital video, the crap sound of 8-bit—all of these will be cherished and emulated as soon as they can be avoided. It’s the sound of failure: so much modern art is the sound of things going out of control, of a medium pushing to its limits and breaking apart. The distorted guitar sound is the sound of something too loud for the medium supposed to carry it. The blues singer with the cracked voice is the sound of an emotional cry too powerful for the throat that releases it. The excitement of grainy film, of bleached-out black and white, is the excitement of witnessing events too momentous for the medium assigned to record them.”

ArtMediaMemoryCritiqueDaybreak
Author:Anthony Oliveira
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“Gestern, inmitten des zarten Übergangs vom Morgengrauen zur Abenddämmerung, fühlte ich mich verloren zwischen der greifbaren Umarmung der Realität und dem vergänglichen Reich der Träume und Illusionen. Die Freude an der Erinnerung, einst ein geschätzter Trost, entzog sich nun meinem Zugriff, denn es gab keinen Begleiter, mit dem ich diese wertvollen Erinnerungen teilen konnte. Es war, als hätte die Abwesenheit meiner Geliebten diesen gemeinsamen Erlebnissen die Essenz entzogen und sie hohl und distanziert gemacht. Der Verlust eines unverzichtbaren Menschen fügt dem Herzen eine tiefe Wunde zu, die nie vollständig heilt. Sie bleiben für immer in den zerbrochenen Kammern unserer Seele präsent, ihre Essenz ist für immer mit unserer eigenen verbunden. Die einfachen Nuancen unseres gemeinsamen Daseins, einst Quellen der Wärme und des Trostes, dienen heute als eindringliche Echos, die vor Schmerz nachhallen. In der riesigen Fläche, in der sich einst deine Präsenz befand, existiert jetzt eine Leere – eine Leere, die genau nach diesem Bild geformt ist und von keinem anderen gefüllt wird. Ich navigiere ständig durch die Konturen dieser Leere, durchquere tagsüber ihre Tiefen und erliege nachts ihrer allumfassenden Dunkelheit. Es ist eine Kluft, die kunstvoll in die Silhouette deiner Abwesenheit eingraviert ist, eine Leere, die sich allen Versuchen der Schließung widersetzt, denn niemand sonst kann jemals den Raum einnehmen, den du einst in meinem Herzen gehalten hast.”

PainLossGriefLonelinessLongingMemoryAbsenceHeartache
Author:Rolf van der Wind
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“Apesar de eu não saber ler, distinguia bem entre as letras hebraicas, impressas no lado esquerdo do devocionário, e as alemãs, no lado direito. As hebraicas agradavam-me mais: vistosas, arredondadas, levavam, por cima e por baixo, pontinhos e tracinhos, dançavam, por assim dizer, livremente no espaço, enquanto as alemãs, impressas a duas colunas, eram magrinhas, hirtas, bem comportadas. O lado das letras hebraicas fazia pensar uma cabeça endiabrada, cheia de caracóis; o outro, das letras alemãs, na cabeça bem penteada duma senhora idosa, com monótona risca ao meio.”

ChildhoodHairLettersMemoryGermanyBiographyHebrewJewishKatrinaGermanIlse Losa
Book:O Mundo Em Que Vivi
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“In Faceless Time by Stewart Stafford Her stare burned into me, In full view, a naked look, Hubbub quietened down, Inaudible to the two of us. Beckoning, a ripened vine, Ingénue cameo of her face, I, a happy gatecrasher to life, Tiptoed in the requited chase. Her looks carry with me now, Resplendent in aged raiment, Ages after my gaze fell on her, A souvenir sheltered radiant. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

LoveRomanceMemoriesMemoryLustLooking BackLove At First SightValentineValentine S DaySt Valentine S Day
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“Two kisses in one kiss was all it took, a comfort, a warmth, perhaps temporary, perhaps false, but reassuring nonetheless, and mine, and theirs, ours, all three of us giggling, insane giggles and laughter with still more kisses on the way, and I remember a brief instant then, out of the blue, when I suddenly glimpsed my own father, a rare but oddly peaceful recollection, as if he actually approved of my play in the way he himself had always laughed and played, great updrafts of light, burning off distant plateaus of bistre & sage, throwing him up like an angel, high above the red earth, deep into the sparkling blank, the tender sky that never once let him down, preserving his attachment to youth, propriety and kindness, his plane almost, but never quite, outracing his whoops of joy, trailing him in his sudden turn to the wind, followed then by a near vertical climb up to the angles of the sun, and I was barely eight and still with him and yes, that was the thought that flickered madly through me, a brief instant of communion, possessing me with warmth and ageless ease, causing me to smile again and relax as if memory alone could lift the heart like the wind lifts a wing, and so I renewed my kisses with even greater enthusiasm, caressing and in turn devouring their dark lips, dark with wine and fleeting love, an ancient memory love had promised but finally never gave, until there were too many kisses to count or remember, and the memory of love proved not love at all and needed a replacement, which our bodies found, and then the giggles subsided, and the laughter dimmed, and darkness enfolded all of us and we gave away our childhood for nothing and we died and condoms littered the floor and Christina threw up in the sink and Amber chuckled a little and kissed me a little more, but in a way that told me it was time to leave.”

JoyFatherSexRegretKissingMemoryMoodEuphoriaSingle SentenceThreesome
Book:House of Leaves
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“Suddenly, the River swept round a bend, and the banks rose upon either side, and the light of Lórien was hidden. To that fair land Frodo never came again. The travellers now turned their faces to the journey; the sun was before them, and their eyes were dazzled, for all were filled with tears. [...] 'Tell me Legolas, why did I come on this Quest? Little did I know where the chief peril lay! Truly Elrond spoke, saying that we could not foresee what we might meet upon our road. Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back. But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy. Now I have taken my worst wound in this parting, even if I were to go this night straight to the Dark Lord. Alas for Gimli son of Glóin!' 'Nay! said Legolas. 'Alas for us all! And for all that walk in the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it: to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream.”

JoyLossBeautyMemoryParting
Book:THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING
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“.I hope you find life as a gift though it is strung with laughter and tears....I hope emotions swell within your deeps as you hear your long-lost song for what truly kept you alive is never too old to die...I hope you embrace growth and change and fall in love with life again...I hope you make memories in places where you once ran away from...I hope you find love in places that were too harsh and dry...I hope you hold a space within yourself to be softer and kinder to your own self...I hope you see...In the unfolding of flowers, love is tucked so deeply inside....I hope you sense...In the smell of nostalgic memories, love has sweetly scented them in places....I hope in the end you see...Life is truly a gift...”

LoveInspirationalJoySongSunFlowerMemory
Author:Jayita Bhattacharjee
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“Recollecting the treasured memories.... strengthens the shared meaning ....by building a deeper emotional connection...It is a relational way of reminiscing about the olden times...By opening them again with the other....it becomes a throwback to the forgotten past....but as you gather those times...it becomes a shared moment cuddling by the fire...for no longer are they memories frozen mutely in time...rather a melting past revived to savor a lifeless relationship....”

LoveInspirationalJoyTimeShareMemoryMoment
Author:Jayita Bhattacharjee
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