„I will never, ever regret the things I´ve done. Because most days, all you have are the places in your memory that you can go to - Will Traynor“

—  Jojo Moyes

Fonte: Me before you

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„Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it- memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey.“

—  Tad Williams novelist 1957

Chapter 42, “Beneath the Uduntree” (p. 718).
Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn, The Dragonbone Chair (1988)
Contexto: “Never make your home in a place,” the old man had said, too lazy in the spring warmth to do more than wag a finger. “Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You’ll find what you need to furnish it—memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things.” Morgenes had grinned. “That way it will go with you wherever you journey. You’ll never lack for a home—unless you lose your head, of course...”

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„I shall never deny what you deserve, my queen,
never regret my memories of Dido, not while I
can recall myself and draw the breath of life.“

—  Virgil, Eneida

Lines 334–336 (tr. Fagles); Aeneas to Dido.
Aeneid (29–19 BC), Book IV
Original: (la) Numquam, regina, negabo
Promeritam, nec me meminisse pigebit Elissae
Dum memor ipse mei, dum spiritus hos regit artus.

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„To have a good memory the first thing you have to do is to trust your memory.“

—  Paul Sophus Epstein Russian-American mathematician 1883 - 1966

Jesse W. M. DuMond, Paul Sophus Epstein http://www.nap.edu/openbook.php?record_id=568&page=147, in Biographical Memoirs V.45, National Academy of Sciences (NAS), published by National Academies Press (1974), ISBN 0-309-02239-8, p. 140

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„p>The bull does not know you, nor the fig tree,
nor the horses, nor the ants in your own house.
The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have died forever.The shoulder of the stone does not know you
nor the black silk on which you are crumbling.
Your silent memory does not know you
because you have died forever.The autumn will come with conches,
misty grapes and clustered hills,
but no one will look into your eyes
because you have died forever.Because you have died for ever,
like all the dead of the earth,
like all the dead who are forgotten
in a heap of lifeless dogs.Nobody knows you. No. But I sing of you.
For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.
Of the signal maturity of your understanding.
Of your appetite for death and the taste of its mouth.
Of the sadness of your once valiant gaiety.</p“

—  Federico García Lorca, Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías

<p>No te conoce el toro ni la higuera,
ni caballos ni hormigas de tu casa.
No te conoce el niño ni la tarde
porque te has muerto para siempre.</p><p>No te conoce el lomo de la piedra,
ni el raso negro donde te destrozas.
No te conoce tu recuerdo mudo
porque te has muerto para siempre.</p><p>El otoño vendrá con caracolas,
uva de niebla y montes agrupados,
pero nadie querrá mirar tus ojos
porque te has muerto para siempre.</p><p>Porque te has muerto para siempre,
como todos los muertos de la Tierra,
como todos los muertos que se olvidan
en un montón de perros apagados.</p><p>No te conoce nadie. No. Pero yo te canto.
Yo canto para luego tu perfil y tu gracia.
La madurez insigne de tu conocimiento.
Tu apetencia de muerte y el gusto de su boca.
La tristeza que tuvo tu valiente alegría.</p>
Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias (1935)

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