Top 1200 Memory Of My Father Quotes & Sayings - Page 2

If the public photograph contributes to a memory, it is to the memory of an unknowable and total stranger.

There is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted.

Memory depends mainly upon myth. Some even occurs in our minds, in actuality or in fantasy; we form it in memory, molding it like clay day after day - and soon we have made out of that event a myth. We then keep the myth in memory as a guide to future similar situations.

My very first memory of being alive is being tossed in the air by my father and laughing and knowing, really knowing, that his was absolute joy.

As you may know, my motto is: "All memory is fiction." It could just as easily be: "All fiction is memory." Unpacked, these two statements defy the ease of logic, but offer some really important truths about narrative art, at the very least, and about memory. So I would say that all art is personal.

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 don't remember much of my childhood. My father passed away when I was six, and sadly, I don't have the fuzziest, foggiest memory of him - what his voice was like, anything he ever said to me, nothing. My early years are a total blur.

I believe playing for such a great club like United honours my father's memory, and the inspiration and drive he gave to me when I was young. I hope he is proud looking at me from the sky.

Places seem to me to have some kind of memory, in that they activate memory in those who look at them.

Yesterday is but a memory, Tomorrow an uncharted course, So live today so it will be a memory without remorse.

But I believe above all that I wanted to build the palace of my memory, because my memory is my only homeland.

I remember tearing up the first time I read Nabokov's description, in 'Speak, Memory,' of his father being tossed on a blanket by cheering muzhiks, with its astonishingly subtle foreshadowing of grief and mourning.

Develop your visual memory. Draw everything you have drawn from the model from memory as well.

You need a fantastic memory in this game to remember the great shots and a very short memory to forget the bad ones.

Remembered memory is much more powerful than actually having your own memory.

When I read a book I liked, I would get a pen and one of my father's legal pads and rewrite it from memory as if I had thought of it myself. It was a clear sign that I wanted to be involved in writing, even if it was just pretend at that point.

When you get old, it's hard to tell what's memory and what you've kind of created in your head as memory, you know?

Memory is very important, the memory of each photo taken, flowing at the same speed as the event.

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.

I'll never forget this memory: I was at home, and suddenly my father came home with 10 footballs for me. I lived by a football pitch, so every day, I'd take the ball and practice shooting.

There's a preoccupation with memory and the operation of memory and a rather rapacious interest in history.

I shattered that memory by going back there. Without realizing it until it was too late, I replaced that memory with the emptiness of that day.

My most vivid memory of my father centers on the day he left. It was warm, and my mother was especially short with Rhonda and me that afternoon, which I attributed to the heat. I was oblivious to the mounting hostilities in our basement apartment.

My father left when I was three, and I have no memory of him. The most significant male figures in my life were my grandfather, in whose house I lived during the first 10 years of my childhood, and later my stepfather.

I think part of my job as a songwriter is to go back in my memory and pull up those pains for other people because somebody else is going to come along who didn't have a good issue with their father.

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.

I'd love a super human memory. My memory has never been good.

So many people that we met had some sort of connection to the [Olympics] games. Some story about how they volunteered there, or some sort of memory of it. It still is in the cultural memory and identity of these cities as much as it is in the physical and architectural memory. It's where these two things overlap, I think, that we're trying to explore with the photos.

If you have a lesion in the hippocampus in both sides, you have short term memory, but you can convert that short term memory into long term memory.

To be a character who feels a deep emotion, one must go into the memory's vault and mix in a sad memory from one's own life.

When my father was assassinated, I decided that I would not compete with his memory, but the priority would be to achieve his dream.

I believe... that our memories are part of one great memory, the memory of Nature herself.

Pain does not create a long-lasting memory, but the memory of luxury exerts itself for ever.

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory.

I wonder if memory is true, and I know that it cannot be, but that one lives by memory nevertheless and not by truth.

One of my most precious possessions is my memory of a home in which love was supreme, in which I cannot recall ever a cross word having passed between father and mother. We all owe such a blessing to our children.

Sometimes I wanted to take a memory - one perfect memory - curl up in it, and go to sleep.

Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.

Identity is memory; when memory disappears, the self dissolves and love with it.

This kind of forgetting does not erase memory, it lays the emotion surrounding the memory to rest.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that is purloined.

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.

Time doesn't exist. It doesn't exist in any way. It's more subjective than real. Time doesn't exist. I believe in memory. Memory is the real inspiration. Memory creates time. Memory is pure power. Pure power and pure strength, and pure utilization of space and time (if time is something we can really ever label). But I don't believe in time itself.

A story is ultimately a memory. It's important when you're telling a story to think about why this memory is a memory. You don't remember everything in life; you just remember certain things - so, why this one?

If you think Wall Street has a short memory, you're dead wrong. No, the folks who work on Wall Street, regulate Wall Street - and, above all, invest in its wares, notably its hedge funds - don't have a bad memory. They don't have any memory at all.

My earliest memory from childhood is of fishing with my father. And I remember vividly we were in a store, and we were buying a pup tent to go on our first camping trip.

History is a people's memory, and without a memory, man is demoted to the lower animals.

Memory is quite central for me. Part of it is that I like the actual texture of writing through memory.

Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.

Now, we have inscribed a new memory alongside those others. It's a memory of tragedy and shock, of loss and mourning. But not only of loss and mourning. It's also a memory of bravery and self-sacrifice, and the love that lays down its life for a friend-even a friend whose name it never knew.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined. Over the years, as the memory of Sophie Mol ... slowly faded, the Loss of Sophie Mol grew robust and alive. It was always there. Like a fruit in season. Every season. As permanent as a government job.

Memory says, 'I did that.' Pride replies, 'I could not have done that.' Eventually, memory yields.

I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours, to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom.

Fear is the memory of pain. Addiction is the memory of pleasure. Freedom is beyond both.

Memory is the crux of our humanity. Without memory we have no identities. That is really why I am committing an autobiography.

We no longer see the evolution of the nervous system, but that of a certain individual. The role of the memory is very important but... not as important as we believe. Most of the important things that we do don't depend on memory. To hear, to see, to touch, to feel happiness and pain; these are functions which are independent of memory; it is an a priori thing. Thus, for me, what memory does is to modify that a priori thing, and this it does in a very profound way.

Did he show himself?” Nash asked, and I glanced to my right to see him staring at my father, as fascinated as I was. My dad nodded. “He was an arrogant little demon.” “So what happened?” I asked. “I punched him.” For a moment, we stared at him in silence. “You punched the reaper?” I asked, and my hand fell from the strainer onto the edge of the sink. “Yeah.” He chuckled at the memory, and his grin brought out one of my own. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father smile. “Broke his nose.

There is no memory or retentive faculty based on lasting impression. What we designate as memory is but increased responsiveness to repeated stimuli.

On the day I was born, or possibly on one of the following days, my father went on a walk in the forested hills and thought of a name for me. His first son was called Daniel, and Samuel in memory of one of his forefathers.

Recording stories is a way of honoring the faculty of memory, even if it's recorded, outsourcing memory to technology.