Muriel Spark Quotes

My own idea is that these things are as piffle before the wind.

People will forget me pretty quick.

I remember rather little of my life, and what I do remember is of small consequence.

What was said before is not important.

Liberating but hard to remember we're just bit-parts in the lives of people we know, who care very little for our secrets

Estragon: I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.

Ask yourself: What did I eat for breakfast today? What did I eat for dinner last night? You see how fast reality fades away?

I do remember, and then when I try to remember, I forget.

Trying to remember, I have learned, is like trying to clutch a handful of fog. Trying to forget, like trying to hold back the monsoon.

People don't remember me. Really. It's not a paranoid thing; I just have this habit of slipping through memories. It doesn't bother me all that much, except I guess that's a lie; it does. For some reason, I test very high on forgettability.

Of what significance are the things you can forget.

The more intelligible a thing is, the more easily it is retained in the memory, and counterwise, the less intelligible it is, the more easily we forget it.

You'll forget it when you're dead, and so will I. When I'm dead, I'm going to forget everything–and I advise you to do the same.

One forgets that one is one. I must try to remember this.

He who forgets will be destined to remember.

A hunter of shadows, himself a shade.

The nice thing about us lot is that what we do is of no consequence. We don't do things that are important; we spend our lives doing things which are not important. That's what's nice about us, we're not pompous. We never do anything very bad that's gonna change the world. We're not serious, we're butterflies. We live for a day.

The harder you try to forget something, the more you think about it subconsciously.

For if I try to seize this self of which I feel sure, if I try to define and to summarize it, it is nothing but water slipping through my fingers.

You try and remember, but it never works.

There would seem to be nothing more obvious, more tangible and palpable than the present moment. And yet it eludes us completely. All the sadness of life lies in that fact. In the course of a single second, our senses of sight, of hearing, of smell, register (knowingly or not) a swarm of events and a parade of sensations and ideas passes through our head. Each instant represents a little universe, irrevocably forgotten in the next instant.

Usually, when I act, I try to forget the words and let them come, and just find my way through them.

I don't know why they are all so eager to be remembered. What good will it do them? There are some things that should be forgotten by everyone, and never spoken of again.

Once a year, she remembers that she is insignificant. Then she forgets agains, because more than she is insignificant, she is forgetful.