It is curious to note how fragile the memory is, even for the important times in one's life. This is, moreover, what explains the fortunate fantasy of history.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
There's a preoccupation with memory and the operation of memory and a rather rapacious interest in history.
Memory is the first casualty of middle age, if I remember correctly.
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.
Memory is a fiction we tell ourselves: just a piece of the truth.
Like Jesus, every human being has enough memories in his past to occupy his time and thoughts continually. It is not the remembrance of these incidents but the reliving of them that creates havoc in our souls.
The function of memory is not only to preserve, but also to throw away. If you remembered everything from your entire life, you would be sick.
How strange are the tricks of memory, which, often hazy as a dream about the most important events of a man's life, religiously preserve the merest trifles.
The moral backbone of literature is about that whole question of memory. To my mind it seems clear that those who have no memory have the much greater chance to lead happy lives.
I have a hot memory, but I know I've forgotten many things, too, just squashed things in favor of survival.
History is not a burden on the memory but an illumination of the soul.