#memo

When we first hear [a] word, we start putting these associational hooks into it that make it easier to fish it back out at some later date. ↗

— Joshua Foer

#memory #art

The entire partying lifestyle was superficial in my experience, and most of my friendships were as deep as a shot glass and as short-lived as a pack of cigarettes. ↗

— Kate Madison

#friendship #lifestyle #memoir #partying #shot-glass

I Came away from the U.S. Memory Championship eager to find out how Ed and Lukas did it. Were these just extraordinary individuals, pridigies from the long tail of humanity's bell curve, or was there something we could all learn from their talents? ↗

— Joshua Foer

#humanity #memory #talent #art

The true art of memory, is the art of attention ↗

— Samuel Johnson

#memory #art

If you want help in starting to write memoirs, you don't want to fall into the clutches of a famous writer who has been hired to teach at a writing workshop solely because of his name's ability to attract students, rather than because of any teaching skill. You should not have to grapple with someone who secretly thinks you should be writing about his life rather than your own. ↗

— Judith Barrington

#writing #art

This is the best possible way to retain important details that you wish to remember in any unified field of knowledge, whether it be the field of economics, science, history, or any other--link them up with related items which you already know or wouldn't mind knowing. ↗

— Ralph Alfred Habas

#p #art

In art, either as creators or participators, we are helped to remember some of the glorious things we have forgotten, and some of the terrible things we were asked to endure... ↗

— Madeleine L'Engle

#artist #creation #creator #faith #grace

Whenever it rains, I remember him, not as a tear that hails down as a raindrop, but as a God of fertility. As, every time I remember him, his memories conceive a baby of emotions in me! ↗

— Mehek Bassi

#breakups #experience #hurt #life #love

Sometimes it feels like you can finally slip out of the door, smiling at the memory of that serene expressions of your beloved ones eyes. ↗

— Anshuma Sharma

#experience #happiness #joy #life #love

Me dad planted that tree,’ she said absently, pointing out through the old cracked window. The great beech filled at least half the sky and shook shadows all over the house. Its roots clutched the slope like a giant hand, holding the hill in place. Its trunk writhed with power, threw off veils of green dust, rose towering into the air, branched into a thousand shaded alleys, became a city for owls and squirrels. I had thought such trees to be as old as the earth, I never dreamed that a man could make them. Yet it was Granny Trill’s dad who had planted this tree, had thrust in the seed with his finger. How old must he have been to leave such a mark? Think of Granny’s age, and add his on top, and you were back at the beginning of the world. ↗

— Laurie Lee

#memoirs #nature #tree #age