Geologists have a saying – rocks remember.

Sweet is the memory of past troubles.

Hunger is the best pickle.

You tell me: Can you live crushed under the weight of the present? Without a memory of the past and without the desire to look ahead to the future by building something, a future, a family? Can you go on like this? This, to me, is the most urgent problem that the Church is facing.

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on.

Memory is the way we keep telling ourselves our stories – and telling other people a somewhat different version of our stories.

After the 9/11 apocalypse happened in New York City, people, particularly New Yorkers, who breathed in the ash, or saw the results of that, have a tendency to keep seeing echoes and having flashbacks to it.

Pictures and shapes are but secondary objects and please or displease only in the memory.

Many a man fails as an original thinker simply because his memory it too good.

If, after I depart this vale, you ever remember me and have thought to please my ghost, forgive some sinner and wink your eye at some homely girl.

Sometimes I get the start of a story from a memory, an anecdote, but that gets lost and is usually unrecognizable in the final story.

For my name and memory I leave to men’s charitable speeches, and to foreign nations and the next ages.

I think history is collective memories. In writing, I’m using my own memory, and I’m using my collective memory.

I remember when the candle shop burned down. Everyone stood around singing ‚Happy Birthday.‘

I never heard of an old man forgetting where he had buried his money! Old people remember what interests them: the dates fixed for their lawsuits, and the names of their debtors and creditors.

I do not, in fact, use many puns. Certainly there are far fewer than people believe. But I suspect the ones I do occasionally use tend to hang around in people’s memories for a while.

Nobody is forgotten when it is convenient to remember him.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

My father belongs to the generation that fought the war in the 1940s. When I was a kid my father told me stories – not so many, but it meant a lot to me. I wanted to know what happened then, to my father’s generation. It’s a kind of inheritance, the memory of it.

No memory of having starred atones for later disregard, or keeps the end from being hard.

I only see clearly what I remember.

My mind doesn’t work, my memories don’t work like a computer file where I can just retrieve them and, boy, there it is. My mind is selective in terms of memories. When I try to think back to college or high school, there are gaps. I try to fill them in. But I can’t tell you it’s always the truth.

My first recollection is that of a bugle call.

I remember very little about writing the first series of ‚Hitchhiker’s.‘ It’s almost as if someone else wrote it.

Every time I hear a politician mention the word ‚stimulus,‘ my mind flashes back to high school biology class, when I touched battery wires to a dead frog to make it twitch.

When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not.

It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.

The violets in the mountains have broken the rocks.

Voters quickly forget what a man says.

He had a massive stroke. He died with his tie on. Do you think that could be our generation’s equivalent of that old saying about dying with your boots on?

If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.

Sometimes I’ll jot a clever turn of phrase down. Sometimes I’ll just remember it.

Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.

The sons of Judah have to choose that God may again choose them. The divine principle of our race is action, choice, resolved memory.

I met Howard Zinn in 1961, my first year at Spelman College in Atlanta. He was the tall, rangy, good-looking professor that many of the girls at Spelman swooned over.

Opportunity makes a thief.

It is a common saying, and in everybody’s mouth, that life is but a sojourn.

There is no memory or retentive faculty based on lasting impression. What we designate as memory is but increased responsiveness to repeated stimuli.

I heard a definition once: Happiness is health and a short memory! I wish I’d invented it, because it is very true.

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.

In memory everything seems to happen to music.

Maybe I should say that memory interests me a great deal, because I think we all tell stories of our lives to ourselves as well as to other people. Well, women do, anyway. Women do this a lot. And I think when men get older, they do this too, but maybe in slightly different terms.

If you wish to forget anything on the spot, make a note that this thing is to be remembered.

How we experience memory sometimes, it’s not linear. We’re not telling the stories to ourselves. We know the story; we’re just seeing it in flashes overlaid.

Our dead are never dead to us, until we have forgotten them.

Yesterday’s just a memory, tomorrow is never what it’s supposed to be.

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.

If you are in the country, you should notice landmarks – that is, objects which help you to find your way or prevent you getting lost, such as distant hills, church towers, and nearer objects, such as peculiar buildings, trees, gates, rocks, etc.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

Holes in the memory. You grab on to some things, others have completely disappeared.

Context and memory play powerful roles in all the truly great meals in one’s life.

A great city, whose image dwells in the memory of man, is the type of some great idea. Rome represents conquest; Faith hovers over the towers of Jerusalem; and Athens embodies the pre-eminent quality of the antique world, Art.

As soon as you have a language that has a past tense and a future tense you’re going to say, ‚Where did we come from, what happens next?‘ The ability to remember the past helps us plan the future.

My mother had a saying: ‚Kamala, you may be the first to do many things, but make sure you’re not the last.‘

I do sometimes look back at things I’ve written in the past, and think, ‚I just don’t remember being the person who wrote that.‘

When I’m on stage, it’s really intense. My mind is going a million miles an hour, trying to remember my act, trying to say it all the right way. It’s funny how different it looks and how it’s happening. There are three Fellini circuses in my head, and outwardly it looks like I’m going to get a bagel.

My recollection is – and I’d have to confirm this – but I don’t recall paying any money to go to law school.

I have a memory, and I can just eliminate mistakes when they come up because I’ve already made them.

I really thought I was on the way out. My husband Blake saved my life. Often I don’t know what I do, then the next day the memory returns. And then I am engulfed in shame.

Words are cheap. The biggest thing you can say is ‚elephant‘.