I grew up around the Luxembourg Gardens, so I guess that is my best memory.
Everyone has their dates. For me, it’s 1991. I can place every memory of my life either before or after this date. It’s the year I became an adult. My mother died, and I created my company shortly thereafter. I definitely would not have done it if she hadn’t passed away.
As a novelist, I mined my history, my family and my memory, but in a very specific way. Writing fiction, I never made use of experiences immediately as they happened. I needed to let things fester in my memory, mature and transmogrify into something meaningful.
And it sort of jogged a memory of something that I read at school and I read it, and I thought God this is it. So you never can tell. I could find something this afternoon.
I was probably unusually close to my parents, so I do what I can now to preserve the integrity of their memory. The Holocaust deserves to be remembered.
And if the great fear had not come upon me, as it did, and forced me to do my duty, I might have been less good to the people than some man who had never dreamed at all, even with the memory of so great a vision in me.
We know something of the history of the spread of Christianity, but much passed from recorded memory and much was transmitted by tradition whose accuracy has been repeatedly questioned.
I have a terrible memory.
Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future.
A good memory is surely a compost heap that converts experience to wisdom, creativity, or dottiness; not that these things are of much earthly value, but at least they may keep you amused when the world is keeping you locked away or shutting you out.
Computers have cut-and-paste functions. So does right-wing historical memory.
I have a certain memory of the way in which my father loved me until I was 10, and it was unconditional and eternal. I get to carry that for the rest of my life, but on a practical level after age 10, it’s just me sort of figuring it out.
I’m very ‘spur of the moment’. I’m always trying to think of fun things to do to create a memory.
I guess the painkillers wipe out your memory along with your ethics.
I think that the memory of Armenia’s genocide opened my eyes at an early age to the existence of political cynicism.
I’ve actually got quite a good memory. I’ve good recall. It’s often things which other people might not notice.
I would say my first golf memory was asking who Arnold Palmer was when he was always on the Pennzoil commercials. When I was a little kid I watched a lot of sports, but I didn’t watch a lot of golf, and this guy was always on a tractor.
My memory of my mom is a wine glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She was a runway fashion model, and she was quite a glamorous woman.
The camera relieves us of the burden of memory. It surveys us like God, and it surveys for us. Yet no other god has been so cynical, for the camera records in order to forget.
No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.
Memory is man’s greatest friend and worst enemy.
I used to watch, on television on Sunday nights, they had the Disney hour then and the castle coming up and ‘When you wish upon a star… ‘ That was my very first Disney memory.
We must address, individually and collectively, moral and ethical issues raised by cutting-edge research in artificial intelligence and biotechnology, which will enable significant life extension, designer babies, and memory extraction.
My first memory in life is grilling my thumb to the griddle in our restaurant on Cape Cod.
My dad took me for an audition once, to show me, ‘OK, you want to be a child actor, this is what it’s like.’ I sang a folk song about donkeys on this West End stage with this big director, and there was a queue of 200 girls all singing ‘Memory.’ I was terrible. Terrible.
There are three side effects of acid: enhanced long-term memory, decreased short-term memory, and I forget the third.
To my mind, it seems clear that those who have no memory have the much greater chance to lead happy lives. But it is something you cannot possibly escape: your psychological make-up is such that you are inclined to look back over your shoulder.
Woe to that nation whose literature is cut short by the intrusion of force. This is not merely interference with freedom of the press but the sealing up of a nation’s heart, the excision of its memory.
When my father was assassinated, I decided that I would not compete with his memory, but the priority would be to achieve his dream.
And the sad truth is that nobody wants me to write comedy. The Exorcist not only ended that career, it expunged all memory of its existence.
Once upon a time, this idea of having a trained, disciplined, cultivated memory was not nearly so alien as it would seem to us to be today.
When I began we did not really have a lot of First Amendment law. It is really surprising to think of it this way, but a lot of the law – most of the law that relates to the First Amendment freedom of the press in America – is really within living memory.
We are linked by blood, and blood is memory without language.
Every single song that I’ve listened to is in my memory forever.
The memory is like a cat scratching my heart.
Hope has a good memory, gratitude a bad one.
We know that if memory is destroyed in one part of the brain, it can be sometimes re-created on a different part of the brain. And once we can unravel that amino chain of chemicals that is responsible for memory, I see no reason why we can’t unlock it and, essentially, wipe out what’s there.
But the memory of war weighs undiminished upon the people’s minds. That is because deeper than material wounds, moral wounds are smarting, inflicted by the so- called peace treaties.
My most vivid memory of my father centers on the day he left. It was warm, and my mother was especially short with Rhonda and me that afternoon, which I attributed to the heat. I was oblivious to the mounting hostilities in our basement apartment.
In school I was in the dark room all the time, and I’ve always collected stray photographs; there’s a great deal of memory in them.
I have to tell everyone that when I finish a film and it goes out and is released, I never look at my films again. I don’t like looking back. I don’t even like talking about ’em! So I’m really digging back in my memory because I don’t like to sit and look at my films again.
We humans are still a very primitive culture, and it’s one of the traps we’ve fallen into over the course of our lives – to forget our history. That’s why George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ is so profound. It chronicles our short memory.
I still have a vivid memory of my excitement when I first saw a chart of the periodic table of elements.
A Latin teacher told me I might make a good actress, and that stuck in my memory. I did some modeling, and Polanski gave me that small part.
As a child, I remember my dad would sometimes drive me into town with him to play pinball machines together. It’s a bittersweet memory but also a favorite.
Ah, tell me not that memory sheds gladness o’er the past, what is recalled by faded flowers, save that they did not last?
What’s interesting is a lot of the older music when we start performing it, it acts a lot like muscle memory. It’s kind of like riding a bike. For me as a singer, I just had to remember like what part of my face I sang that into.
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.
I might have created the phrase ‘memory tools’, but people have always found talismans to help them meditate into a state of hypnosis where they can access their past lives.
Every good tennis player has to have a short memory. Good or bad.
Everyone complains of his memory, and nobody complains of his judgment.
Unlike a high-wire walker, I don’t think any musician strikes the wires of a piano or draws a bow across a violin’s strings primarily for the kick of an adrenalin fix. There is danger on stage, but dropped notes are not broken bones; a memory lapse is not a tumble to the ground.
What we hold in our heads – our memory, our feelings, our thoughts, our sense of our own history – is the sum of our humanity.
During the first couple of years at school… I used to take my lunch and go down by the old fair grounds & sit alone by the side of the road & eat it… Those lovely, lonely lunches stick deep in my memory as unhappy times.
Home is one’s birthplace, ratified by memory.
In the past 3-4 years I’ve developed a habit of keeping numerous small cassette recorders in my house and in a bag with me so that I’m able to commit to tape memory song ideas on a constant basis.
The Cern laboratory in Geneva was set up in 1955 to bring together European scientists who wished to pursue research into the nuclear and sub-nuclear world. Physicists then had greater clout than other scientists because the memory of their role in the Second World War was fresh in people’s minds.
I don’t think forgetting is an important feature of human memory. I think it’s important to be able to remember things accurately.
