Unless we remember we cannot understand.
The sadness inherent in any memory comes from the fact that its object is forgetting.
I had spent so much of life being afraid or living the memory of being afraid.
We ourselves, will resurrect the memory in order to savor it and carry it forth into the world. We will fling it at one another for laughs. Distort it. We will toss the story into the air at parties and howl over its ripeness. Degraded as it was, we will degrade it further. Make it more swollen. We shall render it impossibly awful, making of it the mythology of ourselves. A comfort. Proof of the trials we’ve survived.
How we keep these dead souls in our hearts. Each one of us carries within himself his necropolis.
Life is a flower in the garden of humanity. It blooms for a short time and then slowly it disappears and becomes a memory on the canvas of infinite time.
This … isn’t something I actually saw, but what you end up remembering isn’t always the same as what you witnessed.
Ada banyak hal yang bisa jadi terlupakan, penting ataupun tidak. Seringnya, terjadi karena tertindih oleh memori-memori baru yang berdesakan. Ingatan itu masih ada. Hanya terpinggirkan sementara.
Quentin quieted and watched her for a moment, hungrily, like he was trying to memorize every detail. Maybe he was. Forever is a long time. You have to burn the edges of memory onto your heart, or they can fade, and sometimes the second loss is worse than the first one.
Time – how it expands to fill the spaces you create; how it makes meagre experiences seem never-ending. Whenever he heard people talk about the ravages of time, about how it robbed and deprived, Justin always smiled; because for him, time was an accomplice, plugging the gaps and fleshing out morsels of memory so he would have something substantial to hang on to. That way, however little he had seen or felt, he would always feel as if he had more: a life far richer than the truth.