If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything.
Right now Iβm having amnesia and dΓ©jΓ vu at the same time. I think Iβve forgotten this before.
Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.
The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had been hours before.
Forbidden to remember, terrified to forget; it was a hard line to walk.
Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I donβt go along with that. The memories I value most, I donβt ever see them fading.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.
Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real.
Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence.
When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.
Forgetfulness transforms every occurrence into a non-occurrence.
How is it that we remember the least triviality that happens to us, and yet not remember how often we have recounted it to the same person?
I never forgive, but I always forget.
In memory, everything seems to happen to music.
Living in the past has one thing in its favour - it's cheaper.
Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.
One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind.
Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.
Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.
