Memory is the only
afterlife I can understand.

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

To endeavor to forget anyone is a certain way of thinking of nothing else.

He who is afraid of his own memories is cowardly, really cowardly.

Everyone complains about his memory, and no one complains about his judgment.

Memories are like corks left out of bottles. They swell. They no longer fit.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time in the midst of wretchedness.

We are so constituted that we believe the most incredible things, and once they are engraved upon the memory, woe to him who would endeavor to erase them.

There’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year.

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth but not its twin.

People are trapped in history, and history is trapped in them.

A monument is money wasted. My memory will live on if my life has deserved it.

Memory is more indelible than ink.