A Quote by Ned Rorem

Nothing is a waste that makes a memory. — © Ned Rorem
Nothing is a waste that makes a memory.
You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all... Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it we are nothing.
Vexation of spirit is a waste of time Negative thinking, don't you waste your thoughts Verbal conflict is a waste of word Physical conflict is a waste of flesh People will always be who they want And that's what really makes the world go round Unconditional love is scarce.
Memory and creativity are essential to education, but if you teach memory incorrectly, it is a total waste of time, and it will inhibit learning.
It [prejudice] is such a waste. It makes you logy and half-alive. It gives you nothing. It takes away.
I'm still willing to continue living with the burden of this memory. Even though this is a painful memory, even though this memory makes my heart ache. Sometimes I almost want to ask God to let me forget this memory. But as long as I try to be strong and not run away, doing my best, there will finally be someday...there will be finally be someday I can overcome this painful memory. I believe I can. I believe I can do it. There is no memory that can be forgotten, there is not that kind of memory. Always in my heart.
There is nothing that makes a man more self-satisfied than a poor memory.
The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns.
The very first thing an executive must have is a fine memory. Of course it does not follow that a man with a fine memory is necessarily a fine executive. But if he has the memory he has the first qualification, and if he has not the memory nothing else matters.
Memory is corrupted and ruined by a crowd of memories. If I am going to have a true memory, there are a thousand things that must first be forgotten. Memory is not fully itself when it reaches only into the past. A memory that is not alive to the present does not remember the here and now, does not remember its true identity, is not memory at all. He who remembers nothing but facts and past events, and is never brought back into the present, is a victim of amnesia.
Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.
There is nothing waste, nothing sterile, nothing dead in the universe; no chaos, no confusions, save in appearance.
I don't waste my time doing my head in about stupid things that don't really matter and don't waste time worrying over nothing.
The act of writing is for me often nothing more than the secret or conscious desire to carve words on a tombstone: to the memory of a town forever vanished, to the memory of a childhood in exile, to the memory of all those I loved and who, before I could tell them I loved them, went away.
I think using waste oils as fuel makes sense. We do waste a huge amount of vegetable oil in this country and using that as a fuel source strikes me as fine.
There is nothing higher and stronger and more wholesome and useful for life in later years than some good memory, especially a memory connected with childhood, with home.
The light of memory, or rather the light that memory lends to things, is the palest light of all. I am not quite sure whether I am dreaming or remembering, whether I have lived my life or dreamed it. Just as dreams do, memory makes me profoundly aware of the unreality, the evanescence of the world, a fleeting image in the moving water.
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