Lawrence Durrell Quotes

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

I used to take photographs just to remember people.

The world shrieks and sinks talons into our hearts. This we call memory.

In the memory of the dead all chronological differences are effaced.

Memory is not what the heart desires.

If you tell the truth, then you don't have to have a good memory

Speaking from memory, I don't know how many points Nelson Piquet has.

Memories were short and history unkind. It was the way of the world.

Our memory is childish and it saves only what we need.

The wisest man I ever knew taught me something I never forgot. And although I never forgot it, I never quite memorized it either. So what I’m left with is the memory of having learned something very wise that I can’t quite remember.

I like to think that people live on in other people's memories.

Memory is the miser of the mind; forgetfulness the spendthrift.

That you are not already golden word in our streets Already memories Your love fades Already Whether you are no longer to have perished.

I'm allergic to sad memories. It's the worst.

For it is only habit and memory that dulls the physical passion. Without memory, each night is the first night, each morning is the first morning, each kiss and touch are the first.

I will rememeber you. Will you remember me? Don't let your life pass you by and don't forget all your memories.

A good forgettery is a happier possession than a good memory.

My memory was never loaded with anything but blank cartridges.

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, like ancient stars that have burned out, are no longer in orbit around our minds. There are just too many things we have to think about every day, too many new things we have to learn. New styles, new information, new technology, new terminology ... 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. And for me, what happened in the woods that day is one of these.

To learn from experience, we must remember it, and, for a variety of reasons, memory is a faithless friend.

It seems to be a rule of wisdom never to rely on memory alone.

The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting impressions.

Too much has been forgotten in the name of memory.

Oblivion is the dark page, whereon Memory writes her light-beam characters, and makes them legible; were it all light, nothing could be read there, any more than if it were all darkness.

Unless we fix certain hours in the day for prayer, it easily slips from our memory.