J'ai plus de souvenirs que si j'avais mille ans. IhavemorememoriesthanifIwereonethousandyearsold.
Memories are not shackles, Franklin, theyare garlands.
Our memories are card-indexes consulted, and then put back in disorder byauthorities whom we do not control.
It is not what they built. It is what they knocked down. It is not the houses. It is the spaces between the houses. It isnotthestreetsthatexist.It isthestreetsthat no longer exist. It is not your memories which haunt you. It is not what you have written down. It is what you have forgotten, what you must forget. What you must go on forgetting all your life.
Fromthefirst place of liquid darkness, within thesecond place of air and light, I set down the following record with itsmixture of fact and truths and memories oftruths and its direction always toward theThird Place, where the starting point is myth.
I was bornwith ready-made parents and a sister and brother who had already begun their store of experience, inaccessible to me except through their language and the record, always slightly different, of our mother and father, and as each member of the family wasborn, each,ina sensewithmemories onloan, began to supply the individual furnishings of each Was-land, each Is-land, and the hopes and dreams of the Future.
Porque alla los espan oles y las otras nacionescomo tienen historias divinas y humanas, saben por ellas cua ndo empezaron a reinar sus Reyes y los ajenostodo esto y mucho ma s saben por sus libros. Empero vosotros, que carece is de ellos, Que memoria tene is de vuestras antiguallas?, Quie n fue el primero de nuestros Incas? Over there Spaniards and other nations know from their divine and human history when their Kings and other peoples' Kings began their reigns Their books teach them all of this, and much more. But you, who have no books, what memories do you have of your ancient past? Who was our first Inca?
The devil!what beastly things our memories insist on cherishing!
Contrary to popular belief, the past was not more eventful than the present. If it seems so it is because when you look backward things that happened years apart are telescoped together, and because very few of your memories come to you genuinely virgin.
Si notre vie est vagabonde, notre me moire est se dentaire. Even though our lives wander, our memories remain in one place.
Mendaces memorem esse oportere. Liars need to have good memories.
When Winter scourged the meadow and the hill And in the withered leafage worked his will, Then water shrank, and shuddered, and stood still, Then built himself a magic house of glass, Irised with memories of flowers and grass, Wherein to sit and watch the fury pass.
Liars ought to have good memories.
Autumn is desolation in the plot Of a thousand acres, where these memories grow From the inexhaustible bodies that are not Dead, but feed the grass, row after rich row.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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