Forgotten Things Quotes

Who gathers the withered rose?

You must go in quest of yourself, and you will find yourself again only in the simple and forgotten things.

I lost some time once. It's always in the last place you look for it.

We lose weeks like buttons, like pencils.

And things go unsaid soon get forgotten

I like finding things that are on the fringes and sort of half-forgotten, and to remind us of those things.

Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten, you'll still have your stars.

I'm interested in glorifying something that we in the world would say doesn't deserve being glorified. Something that's forgotten, focused on as though it were some sort of sacred object.

The most important thing is the thing most easily forgotten.

That great dust-heap called “history.”

My dull brain was wrought with things forgotten.

I have always been interested in abandoned cars. I can't tell you how many times I've been in a car, driving, and there's a car sitting in a pasture, totally abandoned. Or on the edge of a creek or something. I always wonder: why did somebody park it in the pasture and leave?

Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were.

Some things were better lost than found.

What will die with me the day I die? What pathetic or frail image will be lost to the world? The voice of Macedonio Fernandez, the image of a bay horse in a vacant lot on the corner of Sarrano and Charcas, a bar of sulfur in the drawer of a mahogany desk?

How simple life becomes when things like mirrors are forgotten.

There was a little corner of his mind that was still his own, and light came through it, as though a chink in the dark: light out of the past. It was actually pleasant, I think, to hear a kindly voice agin, bringing up memories of wind, and trees, and sun on the grass, and such forgotten things.

Small change can often be found under seat cushions.

Some very beautiful things get lost and forgotten. Just as I got lost.

Have you ever happened, reader, to feel that subtle sorrow of parting with an unloved abode? The heart does not break, as it does in parting with dear objects. The humid gaze does not wander around holding back a tear, as if it wished to carry away in it a trembling reflection of the abandoned spot; but in the best corner of our hearts we feel pity for the things which we did not bring to life with our breath, which we hardly noticed and are now leaving forever. This already dead iventory will not be resurrected in one's memory.

Is there something we have forgotten? Some precious thing we have lost, wandering in strange lands?

A breeze, a forgotten summer, a smile, all can fit into a storefront window.