A cigar is as good as memories that you have when you smoked it.
To the best of my recollection, I must recall on my memory, I cannot remember
Some things are too terrible to grasp at once. Other things - naked, sputtering, indelible in their horror - are too terrible to really grasp ever at all. It is only later, in solitude, in memory that the realization dawns: when the ashes are cold; when the mourners have departed; when one looks around and finds oneself - quite to one's surprise - in an entirely different world.
I genuinely think I have a hugging superpower. I'm starting to master the transformative hug. I have a strange memory ability. There's a lot of information that I don't cognitively know, but that seems to rise up at moments of need. That feels like a superpower. Something that nobody knows about me is that I discovered at a young age that I could sing in two tones. I don't do this in performance, because it's something very special to me. But I've learned that it's a practice that goes back far in time.
My earliest childhood memory was watching my parents loosen the wheels on my stroller.
Suddenly the full long wail of a ship's horn surged through the open window and flooded the dim room - a cry of boundless, dark, demanding grief; pitch-black and glabrous as a whale's back and burdened with all the passions of the tides, the memory of voyages beyond counting, the joys, the humiliations: the sea was screaming. Full of the glitter and the frenzy of night, the horn thundered in, conveying from the distant offing, from the dead center of the sea, a thirst for the dark nectar in the little room.
Within a science fictional space, memory and regret are, when taken together, the set of necessary and sufficient elements required to produce a time machine.
I'm in a mainline church, I'm very aware, especially as I move through community churches and new-start churches that are making real efforts not to associate themselves with traditional denominations - very often they have no history. They have no institutional memory.
I fly through memory to find a newborn love.
Id have to say, for me, as a child, my favorite memories were always centered around Christmas time. It always seemed like no matter how much money my parents had or didnt have, we got completely spoiled rotten. There were always presents under the tree, and we always did special things, like hide elves around the house.
Memories, important yesterdays, were once todays. Treasure and notice today.
My greatest inspiration is memory.
Take a person’s memories, and you change who they are.
Life's full of loss, who knows the cost, living in the memory of the love that never was.
Memories of the past are not memories of facts but memories of your imaginings of the facts.
Misfortune comes to people who live only on the memory of their past grandeur.
My earliest memories about music are connected with going to church and listening to organ music. I am not from a musical family, actually, and I remember my first musical fascination to be for organ music. I wanted to become an organist and not a pianist.
I am prone to envy. It is one of my three default emotions, the others being greed and rage. I have also experienced compassion and generosity, but only fleetingly and usually while drunk, so I have little memory.
Alas! how little does the memory of these human inhabitants enhance the beauty of the landscape!
Art is a kind of artificial memory and the pain which attends all serious art is a sense of that factitiousness.