When a nanotech company matures and becomes a real business, it becomes something else. It becomes a biotech company or a cleantech company or a memory chip company. Nanotechnology has fueled the core innovations in electronics and energy.
I’m not alive. People believe memories grow vague, are erased by time, since nothing endures against the passage of time. That’s the difference; time does not pass over me, over us. It doesn’t erase anything, doesn’t undo it. I’m not a live. I died in Auschwitz but no one knows it.
Under the summer roses When the flagrant crimson Lurks in the dusk Of the wild red leaves, Love, with little hands, Comes and touches you With a thousand memories, And asks you Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
I take you and pile high the memories. Death will break her claws on some I keep.
Auntie Phyl’s last months in the care home were extra pieces. Age is unnecessary. Some of us, like my mother, are fortunate enough to die swiftly and suddenly, in full possession of our faculties and our fate, but more and more of us will be condemned to linger, at the mercy of anxious or indifferent relatives, careless strangers, unwanted medical interventions, increasing debility, incontinence, memory loss. We live too long, but, like the sibyl hanging in her basket in the cave at Cumae, we find it hard to die.
Before I proposed to my now-wife, I was understandably nervous. My father suggested that I take stock of all of my experiences and relationships with women, from my earliest memories to present day, and see if I had learned anything that might inform my decision.
The memory of most men is an abandoned cemetery where lie, unsung and unhonored, the dead whom they have ceased to cherish. Any lasting grief is reproof to their neglect.
If you love life you also love the past, because it is the present as it has survived in memory." Translation by David Downie
My selective memory of what drinking was like told me that standing at the bar in a pub, on a summer’s evening with a long, tall glass of lager and lime was heaven, and I chose not to remember the nights on which I had sat with a bottle of vodka, a gram of coke and a shotgun, contemplating suicide.
I like to write about the way things used to be and paint pictures of my memories with beautiful words and melodies.
Living in the present moment requires discretion toward memory. Without memory we’d have amnesia. What good would there be in that? Offer discretion and discernment for our past with a broad spectrum of forgiveness. As for our present moment, delight. And dedication to remain fully present to all the possibility.
I think one of the finest gifts I can give my friends in the holiday season is to pause with a long enough quality to actually SEE them. My calm, unhurried presence communicates this gift of a message, "I see you. I recognize you. I remember our times of together and am contributing right now to another quality memory. I value you and honor and take the time, right this moment to pause long enough to truly notice you."
A life rooted deeply lives and grows in memory.
Scars are memory. Like sutures. They stitch the past to me.
It had not been a long journey, but the memory of it filled her like an infection. She had felt tethered by time to the city behind her, so that the minutes stretched out taut as she moved away, and slowed the farther she got, dragging out her little voyage.
I always think back to my childhood and I have a distinct memory of me not having any idea who I wanted to be. The funny thing is that I feel the same way now. So much time has passed and I haven’t a definitive sense of self.
My earliest memory? Trying to use a red jelly bean as lipstick.
A sister is the cure for swollen heads and ego trips. One may a star, a Chief Executive-famous and rich and beautiful. But one’s sister has the family photo album. And a long, long memory. And a tendency to wink at one on Top Occasions.
I’m taking memory power boost tablets to help me every day and doing the puzzles to help me stay focused.
I live in the borderlands. The word ghost sounds like memory. The word therapy means exorcism. My visions echo and multiplymultiply. I don’t know how to figure out what they mean. I can’t tell where they start or if they will end. But I know this. If they shrink my head any more, or float me away on an ocean of pills, I will never return.
I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?
I know my head isn’t screwed on straight. I want to leave, transfer, warp myself to another galaxy. I want to confess everything, hand over the guilt and mistake and anger to someone else. There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.
Memory cuts both ways; it can either provide you with tremendous strength and a foundation to carry you through your life, or it can be a demon that just ruins your present and your future because you can’t let go of the past.
Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.
A good writer – and I think it’s this way with actors too – even if you have two lines, you have to do the same complete work as if you’re number one on the call sheet. If you get in an elevator and somebody gets on, rides two floors and gets off, that person has a reality that goes back to when they were born. They have memories, they have people, they have a life. They are doing something right now that the camera is on them in their space. We live in our own close-up all the time.
A good memory is needed once we have lied.<br>[Fr., Il faut bonne memoire apres qu’on a menti.]
A good memory is needed after one has lied.
It takes good memory to keep up a lie
One ought to have a good memory when he has told a lie
Getting hurt and watching Tom Brady take over and beginning what’s been just a spectacular run of his, and to come back and play in the AFC Championship Game against the Steelers in Pittsburgh, and help us win that game, is a memory that stands out very clearly.
The game against the Vikings back in my second year stands out. It was kind of a turnaround for us. It allowed us to make a run at the playoffs for the first time in quite a while. The memories are so many it’s hard to pin one down.
Memory is a poet, not an historian.
How many radio shows I did is lost to memory now; it’s in the hundreds – maybe even close to being in the thousands – for the span of years from the time I was eight till I was about fifteen.
Again there are so many records which contain fond memories and music and songs of which I have to say I am quite proud. There are a couple of tracks which in retrospect on which I now wish I had pushed the red button, however I’m sure this is true of any artist career that has spanned the number of years that mine has. I do not believe however that I have ever made a bad record and I have certainly never made a record to which I didn’t give my complete commitment.
I have some memories of certain things that happened in high school when I was stoned out of my mind, but I talked with other people about them, and I trusted the aggregated memories.