Best 211 quotes in «forgetting quotes» category

I think I would remember forgetting that.

It is not the past that shapes lived emotional experience, but rather the act of remembering in the present. To remember a particular emotion from the past implies that in the instant of remembering in the present emotions are created.

It's painful to hold out hope for the things that once brought you joy. You have to find ways to make yourself forget.

It takes so little, so infinitely little, for someone to find himself on the other side of the border, where everything - love, convictions, faith, history - no longer has meaning. The whole mystery of human life resides on the fact that it is spent in the immediate proximity of, and even in direct contact with, that border, that it is separated from it not by kilometers but by barely a millimeter.

I was starting to learn how to forget the things that made me sad. It was like a charm you followed step-by-step, collecting and blending the ingredients, placing everything in its proper place. It was the magic of forgetting.

I was delighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all happiness is fleeting.

I will forget whom forgotten me, I will mention who mentioning me.

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.

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

Memories are never as poignant as the things one forgets.

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.

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

Memory is the enemy of wonder

Memories are never as true as the things one forgets.

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.

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

[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.

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.

No one really remembers anything five minutes after it happens.

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

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

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.

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.

It is not good to talk about rude things you have done willingly or mistakenly. We have to forget those things after telling about it to someone virtues. Then we have another chance to correct us. Repeatedly reminding those things will give us lot of bad results. Instead it is better to talk about best things you have done.

It is not a forgotten place, but it is a place for forgetting - the crimes committed by its patients settling into the dust like the gradual deterioration of the buildings themselves.

One's capacity to forget absolutely is immense.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Sexual Harassment: Forgetting is difficult, remembering is worse.

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 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...

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'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.

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

Sometimes forgetting is the gift that we give ourselves

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

The good and the beautiful is not forgotten; it lives in legend and in song.

The inside jokes have already dissolved into unordered words with no punchline. The gifts have been reduced to objects whose saving grace is their monetary value, no meaning and all function. There are photographs, somewhere, but I’m not the person posed in them anymore and whoever that is sitting next to me, all dressed up in your costume and wearing your mask, well, that’s not you either.