Best 211 quotes in «forgetting quotes» category

Love is never hurtful; It’s never about forgetting who you are, it’s about exploring yourself more.

Love, the exotic bird, came and went. Heart forgot love. Joy, the majestic willow, wept and died. Mind forgot joy. Hope, the basement lamp, fell and broke. Soul forgot hope. Self, the anxious caterpillar, took flight and dropped. Self forgot self. You, my all, became all my reasons. Reasons left. You left. I never forgot.

MASHA. Just think, I am already beginning to forget her face. People will not remember us either. They will forget. VERSHININ. Yes. They will forget. That is our fate, you can't do anything about it. The things which to us seem serious, significant, very important, - the time will come - they will be forgotten or they will seem of no consequence.

Memories are never as poignant as the things one forgets.

Memory is a strange combination of those things we work to remember and the things we can never forget

Memory is curated. All this paraphernalia you collect to ward off forgetting

Memories are never as true as the things one forgets.

Memory had a habit of erasing, leaving only the most necessary.

Memory is the enemy of wonder

Memories: some can be sucker punching, others carry you forward; some stay with you forever, others you forget on your own. You can’t really know which ones you’ll survive if you don’t stay on the battlefield, bad times shooting at you like bullets. But if you’re lucky, you’ll have plenty of good times to shield you.

Most things are forgotten over time. Even the war itself, the life-and-death struggle people went through is now like something from the distant past. We’re so caught up in our everyday lives that events of the past are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about everyday, too many new things we have to learn. But still, no matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away. They remain with us forever, like a touchstone.

Naming things is just our way of forgetting them.

[M]y terror of forgetting is greater than my terror of having too much to remember. Let the accumulated facts about the past continue to multiply. ... So that those who need can find that this person did live, those events really took place, this interpretation is not the only one.

No one is forgotten. Nothing is forgotten. Let no one forget. Let nothing be forgotten.

No one really remembers anything five minutes after it happens.

Nothing stays forgotten for long, Elly. Sometimes we simply have to remind the world that we're still here.

One who cannot leave himself behind on the threshold of the moment and forget the past, who cannot stand on a single point, like a goddess of victory, without fear or giddiness, will never know what happiness is; and, worse still, will never do anything that makes others happy.

Of course she wants him to forget her. The last place she wants to reside is in his thoughts. What an unpleasant place to be.

Oh, am I glad to know that after all these years it still is hard trying to unlove someone; if there's such a thing...

One's capacity to forget absolutely is immense.

Saying that you do not remember something or someone is a less embarrassing or hurtful way of saying that you do not know it or them anymore.

Pronaci cemo se. Onda kada i vreme zaboravi na nas. Pronaci ces me negde u sebi, tu gde se krijes iza laznih i prolaznih ociju.

Remembering to live by forgetting all the places where I died.

Ricoeur describes forgetting as both an active and a passive act: the individual’s responsibility to keep the event remembered is just as important as the changing political environment that is beyond the individual’s control. Neglect, or an unwillingness to revisit the past, constitutes an active act of forgetting. The responsibility of the individual to give an account (or testimony) of a significant event, and the need to remember and mourn the past, form some of Ricoeur’s ethical concerns in Memory, History, Forgetting.

Poetry is like a beef bouillon cube; it's hardly ever needed (or perhaps never needed at all); it sits in its precious wrapper, well out of view, until everyone has forgotten it's there.

She sat there reading; cool, calm and collected. "You could ruin his life with that information," her friend reported triumphantly. The woman sighed, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. "If I did he would never forget me," she replied. "Besides...I don't care enough about his life to concern myself with what he does with it as long as he doesn't concern himself with thoughts of me." Her friend furrowed her brows. "Why?" she asked. The woman set her book down, leaned forward provocatively and said, "Because then I'd have to think of him too.

She goes on with her beautiful hair and mouth like before, I go on like before, alone in the field. It’s like my head had been lowered, And if I think this, and raise my head And the golden sun dries the need to cry I can’t stop having. How vast the field and interior love... ! I look, and I forget, like dryness where there was water and trees losing their leaves.

She's sure, absolutely sure, that what she's waiting for will happen, just the way she wants it to; and I'm so uncertain, so fearful my dreams will end up forgotten somewhere, someday, like a piece of string and a paperclip lying in a dish.

Sexual Harassment: Forgetting is difficult, remembering is worse.

She found the book tucked at the edge of a shelf in the room where she sleeps, and it is thick with pages and words and characters, and reading helps Jinhua to remember and it helps her to forget--and it has been such a long, long time since she has held a book in her hands. When she is not reading Jinhua is sad...

Some things are not supposed to be forgotten; these are the things which make us human.

Someone had told him one day that you forget the voices of those whom you have been close to in the past very quickly.

Some things you never forgot. She had come to believe that the very things the practical world dismissed as ephemera—things like songs and moonlight and kisses—were sometimes the things that lasted the longest. They might be foolish, but they defied forgetting. And that was good. That was good.

That's the way history works. People forget so easily. You start telling yourself a new version of the past, and after a while, it becomes reality.

Sometimes one has to know something many times over. Sometimes one forgets, and then remembers. And then forgets, and then remembers. And then forgets again.

Sometimes we focus on the lyrics too much and forget to dance to the music.

So one can lose a good idea by not writing it down, yet by losing it one can have it: it nourishes other asides it knows nothing of, would not recognize itself in, yet when the negotiations are terminated, speaks in the acts of that progenitor, and does recognize itself, is grateful for not having done so earlier.

Tears sting my eyes once more, building up and rolling over my cheeks with the heat of a dying star. Isn’t that what death is? It’s forgetting. It’s letting go. We make peace with the dead to say goodbye.

Sometimes forgetting is the gift that we give ourselves

Strange how when we grow up we forget the things that make us happy.

Thank god for Vegas. Seriously. A lobotomy wasn’t as effective as a weekend three hours of Red Bull away (from LA, not Pismo) where I wore the thinnest pinned stilettos, gambled like a sweaty degenerate mobster in black loafers, drank like Amy Winehouse and Charles Bukowski’s baby, and snorted throat-dripping lines of coke in a Hard Rock Hotel bathroom with four new best friends. I’d giddily rub off any one of those from the to-do list I wrote in eyeliner on my hotel bathroom mirror.

That's just the way it is. I'll always remember. She's forgotten.

...that the quickest relief will come in forgetting.

That was the man's real trouble, not the savage and uncanny civilizations he encountered--he kept forgetting what he had.

The assassination of Allende quickly covered over the memory of the Russian invasion of Bohemia, the bloody massacre in Bangladesh caused Allende to be forgotten, the din of war in the Sinai Desert drowned out the groans of Bangladesh, the massacres in Cambodia caused the Sinai to be forgotten, and so on, and on and on, until everyone has completely forgotten everything.

The day we forget the horror, Sam, we will repeat it. Never forget your past. It will make you less human, less than human.

The bird music sank into her, like a song you used to know but forgot long ago. You hear a piano play it some day, and for a minute you feel a happy pain, but you don't know why. Bird felt like that.

The chain connecting mother to daughter was broken and the world passed to the keeping of men, who had no way of knowing.

The day you forget about the poors, you become the poorest of the poor!

The easiest way to get rid of bitterness is to spit it out. The easiest way to forget something noxious is to flush it. The easiest way to move on is to erase everything, and I do mean everything.