forgetting

The enlightenment driven away,The habit-forming pain,Mismanagement and grief:We must suffer them all again.

The day you forget about the poors, you become the poorest of the poor!

The reason I might forget something is because my mind is like a computer. I have so much useless stuff stored up in there, that when I forget to clean out my Mind's Cache, it has no room for new information. Like wearing pants!

The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.

It is not good to talk about rude things you have done willingly or mistakenly. We have to forget those things after telling about it to someone virtues. Then we have another chance to correct us. Repeatedly reminding those things will give us lot of bad results. Instead it is better to talk about best things you have done.

It had been years since she question his fidelity, but he'd stepped on to the old fame track again, and that was where the road had taken them before. Infidelity could be forgiven, but forgetting it was impossible. Strangely, that wasn't what bothered her the most. What bothered her was that she didn't really care.

The day we forget the horror, Sam, we will repeat it. Never forget your past. It will make you less human, less than human.

. . .though the names of lovers are forgotten in time, their nameswritten across the sky as ogham threads are tracedbetween the stars

Forget your past,Use your pain;Accept that pain,And Achieve the gain.

While he spends all of his time trying to remember, I spend all of my time trying to forget.I don__ want to remember how it feels to love him.I want to forget everything in this world that reminds me of him.

You can forget the past, but something should be left in your mine to not forget yourself.

Sometimes we focus on the lyrics too much and forget to dance to the music.

Ever been in a spelling bee as a kid? That snowy second after the announcement of the word as you sift your brain to see if you can spell it? It was like that, the blank panic.

That__ how Ptolemy imagined the disposition of his memories, his thoughts: they were still his, still in the range of his thinking, but they were, many and most of them, locked on the other side a closed door that he__ lost the key for. So his memory became like secrets held away from his own mind. But these secrets were noisy things; they babbled and muttered behind the door, and so if he listened closely he might catch a snatch of something he once knew well.

There's a lot of magic between you too, ain't no denying that. And magic makes forgettin' hard.

It is getting dark. In the low mists over the hills, an orange glow broods, as if the trees are on fire. Bats are flooding out from the hundreds of caves that perforate these mountainsides. I watch them plunge into the mists without any hesitation, trusting in the echoes and silences in which they fly.Are all of us the same, I wonder, navigating our lives by interpreting the silences between words spoken, analyzing the returning echoes of our memory in order to chart the terrain, in order to make sense of the world around us?

We must forget in order to remain present, forget in order not to die, forget in order to remain faithful.

Forgetting! It is a form of suicide, a renunciation of the only good the we truly and ineluctably possess: the past. For if joys alone were forgotten, perhaps oblivion would be justly desired. But we are proud and jealous of our sorrows, we love them, we want to remember them. It is they that comprise the crown of life.