Discover the most popular and inspiring quotes and sayings on the topic of Erasure. Share them with your friends on social media platforms like Facebook, Twitter, or your personal blogs, and let the world be inspired by their powerful messages. Here are the Top 100 Erasure Quotes And Sayings by 90 Authors including Lauren Oliver,Haruki Murakami,Harold Brodkey,Deb Caletti,Bisco Hatori for you to enjoy and share.
And yet in only a few hours we've managed to erase her almost entirely. All of her things - bought, received, painstakingly selected; her tastes and preferences; all the random stuff accumulated over the years - all of it sorted, trashed, or packed up in less than a day. How easily we get erased.
Some things are forgotten, some things disappear, some things die.
Memory, so complete and clear or so evasive, has to be ended, has to be put aside, as if one were leaving a chapel and bringing the prayer to an end in one's head.
Our memories and events in our lives are untidy things. We wish that we can file them away and shut the door, or wish the opposite - that they would stay forever.
We'll erase those who want to use us for our family prestige ...
... and erase those girls who try to apply their patronizing psychology theories on us ...
... and those stupid adults who only judge us by our outward appearances ...
We'll erase them all from our consciousness.
One can't go on anymore, she said, electronics seems so clean and yet it dirties, dirties tremendously, and it obliges you to leave traces of yourself everywhere as if you were shitting and peeing on yourself continuously: I want to leave nothing, my favorite key is the one that deletes.
How beautiful is forgetting! What relief it would be for the world to lose some of its contents.
Nothing that truly matters
Can ever evaporate,
Be excised,
Burnt out of your soul.
Memory puts a halo around everything it thinks has vanished forever.
Memories drifting and piling up quietly, like letters on the doormat of an empty house.
There are things that will not have themselves buried and put out of sight, as though they had never been.
The life doesn't simply get erased. It gets imprinted and remembered.
Everything is imprinted for ever with what it once was.
How easily we all vanish from the face of the earth. One moment, we live. The next, we are erased.
Unvisited tombstones, unread diaries, and erased video game high-score rankings are three of the most potent symbols of mankind's pathetic and fruitless attempts at immortality.
What's left is palimpsest - one memory bleeding into another, overwriting it.
And when all else is gone, Art remains.
Memory: what wonders it performs in preserving and storing up things gone by - or rather, things that are
The destructive character knows only one watchword: make room; only one activity: clearing away ...
The destructive character is young and cheerful. For destroying rejuvenates in clearing away traces of our own age ...
People have never had a problem disposing of the past when it gets too difficult. Flesh will burn, photos will burn, and memory, what is that?
The act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.
History will be erased in the universal purgatory.
When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered ... the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls ... bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory
Only the vanished truly leave their mark. And
Take only memories, leave only footprints.
The person who did all of these things has gone away, vanished without a trace in the ecstasy of existence.
Lives gone, traces left.
The past, has been erased; the present, forgiven; and the future, redeemed.
No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.
Even if we want to eradicate our ghosts, our dead, our murdered, even if you erase a name and the record of the existence of a person, somebody remembers.
In Los Angeles you get the sense sometimes that there's a mysterious patrol at night: when the streets are empty and everyone's asleep, they go erasing the past. It's like a bad Ray Bradbury story - 'The Memory Erasers'.
A time past is an essence gone
What the mind forgets
The scars keep remembering
Nothing in a graduate degree in art history prepares you for the eloquence of the eraser.
Its name - what passes not away;
What fades, vanishes, decays, dies-that's what one must love.
The past, boxed up and stacked out of sight. But never too far away
The brightest memory fades faster than the dullest ink.
Memory is not a storage place but a story we tell ourselves in retrospect. As such, it is made of storytelling materials: embroidery and forgery, perplexity and urgency, revelation and darkness.
Nothing's ever gone. We fool ourselves that things fade, but they never do.
Forgotten [10w]
There's no greater slur of memory than to be forgotten.
Nothing is so irrevocable as mind.
The old grooves must be erased in your brain, without forming new ones. You must realize yourself as the immovable, behind and beyond the movable, the silent witness of all that happens.
When all is lost, there is still a memory.
I'll destroy the ephemeral.
Time elaborately thrown away.
That is the end of absence - the loss of lack. The daydreaming silences in our lives are filled; the burning solitudes are extinguished.
What is not recorded is not remembered.
Memory is a rare ghost-raiser. Like a haunted house, its walls are ever echoing to unseen feet. Through the broken casements we watch the flitting shadows of the dead, and the saddest shadows of them all are the shadows of our own dead selves.
What you have not published, you can destroy. The word once sent forth can never be recalled.
Purpose Erases Deep Hurts
Memory chooses to preserve what desire cannot hope to sustain.
Writing is like a sculpture where you remove, you eliminate, in order to make the work visible. Even those pages you remove somehow remain
You must often make erasures if you mean to write what is worthy of being read a second time; and don't labor for the admiration of the crowd, but be content with a few choice readers
Memory doesn't erase. The recall ability fails.
Not an attrition of memory, but great locked rooms in the mansion of his recollection. Not forgotten, any more than a locked room ceases to exist, but ... locked.
Memory is a time capsule; it records the wounds inflicted upon human consciousness.
A life is bookended by forgetting, as though memory forms the tunnel that leads into and out of a human body.
The mind, he reflects, is like a house - thoughts which the owner no longer wishes to display, or those which arouse painful memories, are thrust out of sight, and consigned to attic or cellar; and in forgetting, as in the storage of broken furniture, there is surely an element of will at work.
My room is cleared. My head is cleared. Earlier, around dawn, I took out the last load of trash. I look around and see what's left. Nothing. There is no more Daelyn Rice. As I was. As I am. Or will become. I'm a blank slate
I would have you imagine, then, that there exists in the mind of man a block of wax ... and that we remember and know what is imprinted as long as the image lasts; but when the image is effaced, or cannot be taken, then we forget or do not know.
Identity is memory; when memory disappears, the self dissolves and love with it.
Memories, they are the cobwebs of the mind.You can try and sweep them away, but it seems as if some trace always remains..
An imperfectly remembered life is a useless treachery. Every day, more fragments of the past roll around heavily in the chambers of an empty brain, shedding bits of color, a sentence or a fragrance, something that changes and then disappears. It drops like a stone to the bottom of the cave.
A picture is finished when all trace of the means used to bring about the end has disappeared.
All the nations that ever lived have left their footsteps in the sand. The traces fade with every tide, the echoes grow faint, the images are fractured, the human material is atomized and recycled. But if we know where to look, there is always a remnant, a remainder, an irreducible residue.
None of us had ever encountered, or even imagined, such a power of amnesia, the possibility of a pit into which everything, every experience, every event, would fathomlessly drop, a bottomless memory-hole that would engulf the whole world.
Etchings endure,
But not in Sand
Meanings Collide
To Unresolved Fragments
Codes fizzle to Static
They are not lost
But Unheard
Never lost
Fading slowly to Silence
By infinite degrees
Everything is impermanent, except the love of God.
I'l erase your day
Nothing prints more lively in our minds than something we wish to forget.
IMPERMANENCE
Driftsand of the hours. Quietly disappearing,
continuously, even the happily consecrated design.
Life blows away, always: pillars already rise
without connection, carrying nothing but empty air.
Memories sharpen the past; it is reality that decays.
It was the last that remained of a past whose annihilation had not taken place because it was still in a process of annihilation, consuming itself from within, ending at every moment but never ending its ending.
What's gone will never come back, but it exists when you think of it.
The day history will die and lose its essence with time, memories will not only die, but they shall also surely be forgotten with time!
Tomorrow awaits to become yesterday. Remnant shall only be a smile, a frown or a tear! Let's store what we may!
Nothing will remain of you; not a name in a register, not a memory in a living brain. You
When from a long distant past nothing subsists after the things are
broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain.
Sometimes the most important and powerful element is an absence, a lack, a burnished space in your mind that glows and aches as you try to fill it.
The more you try to erase me The more, the more The more that I appearErase-- Thom Yorke
Nothing bubbled up from the depths. For once, the present was so alive and captivating that the past was not even an echo or a shadow-she was, in this moment, wiped clean.
Each memory was now the shadow of a shadow of a shadow. The only thing that remained tangible to him was the sense of absence.
As soon as people hear my voice and synthesizer together they hear Erasure.
Markings in dry clay disappear
Only when the clay is soft again.
Scars upon the self disappear
Only when one becomes soft within.
Within a science fictional space, memory and regret are, when taken together, the set of necessary and sufficient elements required to produce a time machine.
Searching for fish, cook them, eat them. They're gone. Yet, writing is never gone although the writer died.
We are never as beautiful as now. The crushing sadness of hotel rooms; the gelid lights and clean notepads; the blank walls and particles of someone else's erased life.
When one has nothing left to one but memories, one guards and dusts them with especial care.
Everything that belongs to the past seems to have fallen into the sea; I have memories, but the images have lost their vividness, they seem dead and desultory, like time - bitten mummies stuck in a quagmire.
Memories are the only things we really own, the only things that stay constant. Everything else becomes dust.
Existence is without memory; of the vanished it retains nothing - not even a memory.
The past is gone, forever unchanging, written in stone," she
Take nothing but memories, leave nothing but footprints!
A stain. It's all that's left of us when we're gone.
Everything is impermanent: happiness, sorrow, a great meal, a powerful empire, what we're feeling, the people around us, ourselves.
Memories are fragile; they can be broken and forgotten or preserved like a tomb.
Honours, monuments, whatever the ambitious have ordered by decrees or raised in public buildings are soon destroyed: there is nothing that the passage of time does not demolish and remove.
Did the memory erasure device work, Uncle?"
"The what?"
"The memory erasure device. You were testing it when I last saw you."
"Don't know what you're talking about, dear girl.
How easy it is to destroy the past and how difficult to forget it.