Baron Vaughn Quotes

Sometimes I think the only memories I have are those that I’ve created around photographs of me as a child. Maybe I’m creating my own life. I distrust any memories I do have. They may be fictions, too.

Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember.

He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the words and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

It is easy, retrospectively, to endow one's youth with a false precocity or a false innocence; to tamper with the dates marking one's stature on the edge of the door.

It is strange how a memory will grow into a wax figure, how the cherub grows suspiciously prettier as its frame darkens with age-strange, strange are the mishaps of memory.

Memory is a snare, pure and simple; it alters, it subtly rearranges the past to fit the present.

There are some things one remembers even though they may never have happened.

I love that the idea of examining memory, and the way memory is edited was made more interesting because it was being filtered through a writer.

I imitatea memory of beliefthat I do not own.

memory is so selective; wishful thinking presses it into service all the time.

Memory is a fascinating trickster. Words and images have enormous power and can easily displace actual experience over the years.

Vanity plays lurid tricks with our memory.

You tell me these two were my parents, so now I know but it's a memory that you've given me. I'll remember the photo from now on, but not them.

Memory must be patchy; what is more alarming is its face-savingness. Something in one shrinks from catching it out - unique to oneself, one's own, one's claim to identity, it implicates one's identity in its fibbing.

Memory can make a thing seem to have been much more than it was.

Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.

There are many books which we think we have read when we have not. There are, at least, many that we think we remember when we do not. An original picture was, perhaps, imprinted upon the brain, but it has changed with our own changing minds. We only remember our remembrance.

Memory is so corrupt that you remember only what you want to; if you want to forget about something, slowly but surely you do.

That which we remember is, more often than not, that which we would like to have been; or that which we hope to be. Thus our memory and our identity are ever at odds; our history ever a tale told by inattentive idealists.

How often do we tell our own life story? How often do we adjust, embellish, make sly cuts? And the longer life goes on, the fewer are those around to challenge our account, to remind us that our life is not our life, merely the story we have told about our life. Told to others, but — mainly — to ourselves.

However, for story reasons, we needed to represent them in certain ways. One of the things that sort of blew me away that I didn't know when we started is that memories are completely susceptible to change. And this is, you know, one of the many reasons why certain people are trying to get it taken out - eyewitness testimony in court cases because it's very unreliable.

I don't believe in false memories, like I don't believe in false songs.

But it's funny how the memory works and how sometimes we just belive whatever we want.

Memories were moving pictures in which meaning was constantly in flux. They were stories people told themselves.

The imagined memories had to have as much weight as the real, or we had to at least pretend they did to such a degree that they just very well might have. And so I never questioned Angela about that particular story, or about all the troubling things that it pointed to, content to believe that at least in this version things worked for her better than they did in the one I never heard.