Aldo Leopold Quotes

Memories are doing funny things to us.

A childhood is what anyone wants to remember of it. It leaves behind no fossils, except perhaps in fiction.

We don’t choose between experiences, we choose between memories of experiences. Even when we think about the future, we don’t think of our future normally as experiences. We think of our future as anticipated memories.

A photograph it a souvenir of a memory. It is not a moment. It is the looking at the photograph that becomes the moment. Your own moment.

My best fishing-memory is about some fish that I never caught.

A pleasure is full grown only when it is remembered. You are speaking, Hmán, as if pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing.

Travel is glamorous only in retrospect.

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

I do enjoy thinking about the past.

The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns.

Memory is a strange Bell—Jubilee, and Knell.

And your own life while it's happening to you never has any atmosphere until it's a memory.

Time's passage through the memory is like molten glass that can be opaque or crystalize at any given moment at will: a thousand days are melted into one conversation, one glance, one hurt, and one hurt can be shattered and sprinkled over a thousand days. It is silent and elusive, refusing to be damned and dripped out day by day; it swirls through the mind while an entire lifetime can ride like foam on the deceptive, transparent waves and get sprayed onto the conciousness at ragged, unexpected intervals.

Swift defined observation to be an old man's memory.

In memory, you can access something from the past, anything that you've experienced that you remember - it's there. Now, you might have a memento of it in a photograph or in a film or a building or some clothes that you wore. There might be something that connects you to this memory. But all of us are just all caught in this time, whatever that is.

My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. We possess nothing certainly except the past.

The great times were never as great as they seem in the rearview mirror.

Yesterday is just a memory.

The strength of your memory dictates the size of your reality

Strange, how the best moments of our lives we scarcely notice except in looking back.

Do you remember we were sitting there by the water?

I still preserve those relics of past sufferings and experience, like pillars of witness set up in travelling through the valve of life, to mark particular occurrences. The footsteps are obliterated now; the face of the country may be changed; but the pillar is still there, to remind me how all things were when it was reared.

Sometimes," he sighed, "I think the things I remember are more real than the things I see.

How paradoxical it is to search reality for the pictures that are stored in one's memory.

Memory is imagination pinned down.