The rich and complex history of South Carolina is the history of the African diaspora, and in many ways, I felt acutely the sense of this collective memory of migration, suffering and transformation while living in South Carolina.
As you may know, my motto is: "All memory is fiction." It could just as easily be: "All fiction is memory." Unpacked, these two statements defy the ease of logic, but offer some really important truths about narrative art, at the very least, and about memory. So I would say that all art is personal.
Someone knocks at the door of an apartment to borrow salt or sugar, people run into each other in the elevator, and in this way become inscribed in the spectator's memory.
Maybe heaven entailed more than a soul residing in a single place, but instead having pieces of yourself spread among the hearts and memories of people you've touched.
I mean, my father was killed when I was six. And I only have tiny, tiny flashes of memory.
Memories are who we are. In the end, that's all the luggage you take with you. Love and Memories are what last.
I love London because of the history. The times I've been there have been some of the best memories in my life. Singing there, seeing great theater - and the people like a Southern accent.
If we knew a person was going to die, we'd hold harder to the memories." Fire corrected him, in a whisper. "The good memories.
...that's how memory works ... Things disappear without your permission, then come back again without your permission.
Human beings are naturally flawed when it comes to time and memory. The past is forgotten, or it is believed bad things will not recur, and people become bound in their current problems. That which afflicted the grandfathers of their grandfathers is a distant, dim thing, and not as important as present concerns, no matter how trivial.
Your body has such a memory.
I have a lot of bitter memories from Beijing. Hopefully, we can erase those memories and bring the gold back to Japan.
Audio virology is not a metaphor. It is to be taken literally. It maps real processes of mutation, transmission, contagion and memory within music culture.
Because we live in a condition of ubiquitous music and media, and near infinite technological memory, it is much easier for local cultures to find an audience that resonates with their music, whether local or globally.
Great men are excellent topics of conversation, but the superior man, the superior men, the masters, the universal spirits on horseback, have to stop and search their memories merely to know who these so-called great men might be. And so the great man is left with the crowd, the worthless majority...for his admirers.
Memories are made of peculiar stuff, elusive and yet compelling, powerful and fleet. You cannot trust your reminiscences, and yet there is no reality except the one we remember......
It'd be nice to feel that claustrophobic feeling or the anxiety that the film Melancholia produces, but for me I look at it and think about what I was doing that day, where we shot it... It's kind of like a weird memory. It's more a photo album of memories than being able to feel connected to myself. It's not easy to do.
Writers should take advantage of their surroundings, if only to trigger memories that juice their writing.
Escape the safety of the small by taking the risks to become part of something bigger. Your true self demands it. Listen for the timer on the oven to sound-that's when the memory curtain parts, flashing moments that really mattered.
I'm sorry to inform you that your 50 year warranty has expired on your back, knees, and memory. Luckily your lifetime warranty on your heart is still in effect. Of course, that becomes void and expires when you do.
I have so many just precious, fond memories that revolve around food, and that's why I have such a passion for it.
I really want to do well at this upcoming match! I'm going to try really really hard! Because it may be my dad's first memory of a match. I really want to win.
Every vivid memory holds some essential truth about your vision of the world
Memories of ice and Trent surfaced, and I wrapped my arms around my middle. I had saved him, and he had saved me. What was wrong with us?
After Memory Keepers Daughter, it took me a few months to shut out the world. I really had to turn off the Internet and sort of cloister myself away from the world again and sink into that psychic space to write again.
The poorest people are not people without money, but people without memories of happier times when they're down
I think that objects have memories. I'm always thinking that I'll go to the museum and see something and have a big memory about some other lifetime.
The "How to Slowly Kill Yourself and Others" essay was so hard to write because of the memories, the sensory stuff, but also because it didn't follow the form of any essay that I've ever read. And the truth that I was exploring necessitated that obliteration of traditional form, I think.
Sometimes I wanted to take a memory - one perfect memory - curl up in it, and go to sleep.
Phonogram is the memory of a long period in my life through a surprisingly small filter. Those characters are basically the golem who accompanied me on that decade and a half.
The first scene I ever appeared in, it was the first scene I ever shot [during my] first day on set. I walk up to my mom with a plastic bag over my head and she says that her clothes better not be on the floor, not that a plastic bag is not a safety hazard or anything. I think it's a really cute scene and also just a very vivid memory.
People say that bad memories cause the most pain, but it's actually the good ones that drive you insane.
I have a few memories of being young here in the United States, but almost no recollections of being young in Vietnam.
Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream.
If in the twilight of memory we should meet once more,we shall speak again together and you shall sing to me a deeper song. And if our hands should meet in another dream we shall build another tower in the sky.
Spring is beautiful everywhere, but it is more than beautiful in Lebanon. Spring is the spirit of an unknown God speeding through the world, which, as it reaches Lebanon, pauses, because now it is as at home with the souls of the Prophets and Kings hovering over the land, chanting with the brooks of Judea, the eternal Psalms of Solomon, renewing with the Cedars of Lebanon memories of an ancient glory.
But memory is an autumn leaf that murmurs a while in the wind and then is heard no more.
I am the lover's gift; I am the wedding wreath; I am the memory of a moment of happiness; I am the last gift of the living to the dead; I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore. You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days. Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God. But let there be spaces in your togetherness, and let the winds of the heavens dance between you.