Thank You Memory Quotes & Sayings

Thank God for the potholes on memory lane. — Randy Newman

Much better," I said calmly. "Much better, I thank you, Dr. John." For, reader, this tall young man - this darling son - this host of mine - this Graham Bretton, was Dr. John: he, and no other; and, what is more, I ascertained this identity scarcely with surprise. What is more, when I heard Graham's step on the stairs, I knew what manner of figure would enter, and for whose aspect to prepare my eyes. The discovery was not of to-day, its dawn had penetrated my perceptions long since. Of course I remembered young Bretton well; and though ten years (from sixteen to twenty-six) may greatly change the boy as they mature him to the man, yet they could bring no such utter difference as would suffice wholly to blind my eyes, or baffle my memory. Dr. John Graham Bretton retained still an affinity to the youth of sixteen. — Charlotte Bronte

I've been hooked on films ever since I can remember renting VHS tapes. But who got me hooked? I think life did. There wasn't a person or a mentor that got me hooked. I think it was the films themselves that influenced me. A specific memory that comes to mind is watching 'Goodfellas' when I was 12 and thought Robert De Niro looked so cool sitting at the bar smoking a cigarette and contemplating his next "move". I actually would copy his faces gestures and try and get into his mind frame. I would borrow mad dad's clothes and pretend I was a Mobster. So I guess I have to thank Robert DeNiro. — Jaime Zevallos

I leave pansies, the symbolic flower of freethought, in memory of the Great Agnostic, Robert Ingersoll, who stood for equality, education, progress, free ideas and free lives, against the superstition and bigotry of religious dogma. We need men like him today more than ever. His writing still inspires us and challenges the 'better angels' of our nature, when people open their hearts and minds to his simple, honest humanity. Thank goodness he was here. — Bruce Springsteen

Do you love me?"
There was an awkward silence for a moment. Then Father gave a little chuckle. "Jonas. You, of all people. Precision of language, please!"
"What do you mean?" Jonas asked. Amusement was not at all what he had anticipated.
"Your father means that you used a very generalized word, so meaningless that it's become almost obsolete," his mother explained carefully.
Jonas stared at them. Meaningless? He had never before felt anything as meaningful as the memory.
"And of course our community can't function smoothly if people don't use precise language. You could ask, 'Do you enjoy me?' The answer is 'Yes,'" his mother said.
"Or," his father suggested, "'Do you take pride in my accomplishments?' And the answer is wholeheartedly 'Yes.'"
"Do you understand why it's inappropriate to use a word like 'love'?" Mother asked.
Jonas nodded. "Yes, thank you, I do," he replied slowly.
It was his first lie to his parents. — Lois Lowry

I am grateful, and would thank the Gods(if there were any to thank) that I have finally mastered this art of forgetting
of murdering the memory. — Caryl Phillips

What is memory foam? How does it remember things? Does it have its own brain?" Edilyn
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Suffice it to say, it's something future man will thank modern science for. There's also a toilet in the bathroom." Virag
"A what in the who?" Edilyn — Sherrilyn Kenyon

Simon," Isabelle interrupted, "you're talking like a nerd."
She said it almost fondly, but it freaked Simon out more. "And I don't know how to be smooth, sexy vampire Simon for you, either!"
Isabelle's perfect mouth curved, like a dark half-moon in her pale face. "You were never that smooth, Simon."
"Oh," said Simon. "Oh, thank God. I know you've had a lot of boyfriends. I remember that was a faerie, and"
another flash of memory, this time most unwelcome
"a ... Lord Montgomery? You dated a member of the nobility? How am I ever going to compete with that?"
Isabelle still looked fond, but it was diluted with a good deal of impatience. "You're Lord Montgomery, Simon! — Cassandra Clare

He was immaculately dressed, without trying. He dressed that way by nature - which meant that he had money - and I loved money. I recognized the royal sign of the Rolex, the fine thread of Armani, the easy way he looked at the world. I also recognized the way he said "thank you" when the bartender refilled his drink, and how when the couple next to him swore repeatedly, he flinched. his type was hardly ever single. I wondered what stupid bitch let him go. Whoever she was, I would wipe her from his memory in no time at all. — Tarryn Fisher

Replace the old memory with a potentially crappier new one? No thank you. — Lauren Barnholdt

More than anything, this place feels familiar. I bury my hands in the hot sand and think about the embodiment of memory or, more specifically, our natural ability to carry the past in our bodies and minds. Individually, every grain of sand brushing against my hands represents a story, an experience, and a block for me to build upon for the next generation. I quietly thank this ancestor of mine for surviving the trip so that I could one day return. — Raquel Cepeda

What I have done is worthy of nothing but silence and forgetfulness, but what God has done for me is worthy of everlasting and thankful memory. — Joseph Hall

Thank you Robin Williams for showing the world that one man can make a difference in the lives of millions, while still fighting his own personal demons. You are missed, but never forgotten. — Steven Wolff

My co-winners, Peter Diamond and Christopher Pissarides, and I wish to thank the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences and the Nobel Foundation for this very great honor. We each feel privileged and humbled to be named the winners of the 2010 Sveriges Riksbank Prize in Economic Sciences in Memory of Alfred Nobel. — Dale T. Mortensen

He looked into her face and tossed her sweater on the floor. I thank God you walked out of my memory and into my life. — Rachel Gibson

To the memory of Vincent Van Gogh, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, El Greco, and many others who came before me as well as those who will come after. We are one. Thank you. — Luther E. Vann

I give you life in the memory of one who no longer lives. May you have a long life, and may you thank Matthew every day for it. — Moises Kaufman

I digress, but here's the rub: The dead are visible only in the terrible lidless eye of memory. The living, thank heaven, retain the ability to surprise and to disappoint. Your Hazel is alive, Waters, and you mustn't impose your will upon another's decision, particularly a decision arrived at thoughtfully. She wishes to spare you pain, and you should let her. You may not find young Hazel's logic persuasive, but I have trod through this vale of tears longer than you, and from where I'm sitting, she's not a lunatic. — John Green

I walked to Scott, each step heavy, tears hot on my face, my hands hovering uselessly over his rapidly decaying body. I shut my eyes, forcing myself to recall his lopsided grin. Not his vacant eyes. In my mind, I played back his teasing laugh. Not the gurgling, gasping sounds he'd made right before dying. I remembered his warmth in accidental touches and playful jabs, knowing his body was rotting even as I clung to the memory.
"Thank you," I choked out, telling myself that somewhere nearby, he could still hear my voice. "You saved my life. Good-bye, Scott. I'll never forget you, that's my oath to you. Never." I vowed. — Becca Fitzpatrick

No point in describing the office. No point in even allowing the office to even
register on her eyeballs and take up valuable memory space in her brain.
Fluorescent lights and partitions with carpet glued to them. I prefer my carpet
on the floor, thank you. A color scheme. Ergonomic shit. Chicks with
lipstick. Xerox smell. Everything's pretty new, she figures. — Neal Stephenson

Thank you very much," the girl said. "You know that another woman, or a woman in memory, is a terrible thing for a young girl to deal with when she is still without experience. — Ernest Hemingway,

Damn it, why couldn't I have a photographic memory!"
"Thank God you don't," Caleb exclaimed in a disgusted tone.
"What makes you say that?" Reuben demanded hotly.
"Because then she'd be calling you Ruby, and I'd have to be sick to my stomach. — David Baldacci