U happy life full of hope, for the unfortunate it is full of memories.

Memories are the only paradise from which we cannot be expelled.

Things you may not think about for years can still make you cry.

The memories were light, like postcards sent from a previous life.

The only bank where you can invest all your savings is memories. This bank will never fail.

Remember this day... for with it eternity begins.

The memories are so ridiculous. Some of them are quite vague, others are absolutely clear, others are too painful and you try not to think about them, and some are so painful that you will never forget them.

Colossal Quotes About Memories

You can't live only on memories.

The memory of a mother's love is the most comforting memory for someone who feels lost and abandoned.

Our memories are like a file cabinet that was once used and then scattered haphazardly...

Nice Colossal Quotes About Memories

You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memories.

Life is the period between dreams and memories.

I will collect all the memories of you and make them a part of myself.

Some people save money for retirement, but I preferred to save my memories.

Life passes in our absence: we are always between memory and hope.

Life flows like a river, independent, full-blooded; it seethes and rushes forward, carrying away pieces of time, erasing impressions of what has sunk into oblivion. If time turns even stones into dust, what can we say about memories!

Memories - a walk through the cemetery of unfulfilled hopes.

A person always hopes for what he should remember, and always remembers what he should hope for.

The crown of thorns of sorrow is the memories of happy days.

Perhaps the fear of death is nothing more than a memory of the fear of birth.

The memory of the happiness experienced is no longer happiness, the memory of the pain experienced is still pain.

Memories are like islands in the ocean.

Longing for what has been lost is not as painful as longing for what has not happened.

In every person's life, there will probably be moments with memories of which he does not want to part.

It's nice to be remembered; but it often turns out cheaper to be forgotten.

Grave Colossal Quotes About Memories

What is it like to live when you have nothing, not even memories to bother you in the middle of the night?

Memories?.. These are phantom pains.

If a person helped someone he loved, then under no circumstances should he later remember his own.

Only that which remains in memory is that which never ceases to cause harm.

My memories are dear to me. That is all I have. This is the only true value...

People know how to change memories, add lies little by little so as not to see the truth...

What does the Ninth Symphony mean in comparison with the tune sung by a street organ and a memory in duet!

He who carries his lantern behind his back casts a shadow in front of him.

Memoirs are written not to inform the reader, but to protect their author.

If we remember with emotion the one we loved, it is not he himself, but our memories that excite us.

Nothing remains after us, nothing but memories...

U different people Memories are different, there are not two people who remember something the same way, even if they saw it with their own eyes.

Nothing hurts more than broken memories.

Long Colossal Quotes About Memories

Happiness is not reality, but only a memory: our past years seem happy to us, when we could live better than we lived, and lived better than we live in the moment of memories.

Our life seemed to me then the most ordinary thing, but now, sifted through the sieve of memories, it seems simply incredible and amazing. It must be nostalgia and longing.

I wish I could burn down the burden of my memories...

Everyone has a place in their heart for unforgettable memories, unforgettable places. Once you understand that there is no turning back, you will want to go back to the point of insanity.

Nothing brings back memories like smell.

Why tell me that someone else’s pain burned my memory like a whip?

Memories are magical clothes that do not wear out from use.

Dreams and memories - future and past - are just decoration.

The music of life will fall silent if the strings of memories are cut off.

I don't want to become a mere memory that will soon be carried away by a storm!

Remembering past suffering when you are safe gives pleasure.

Such memories are worth living for, even if there is no one to close the cycle with. This is because memories will always be new. You can't change the past, that's for sure, but you can change memories.

Memories are the lives of those who live.

Spicy Colossal Quotes About Memories

Life is a very capricious thing, and there were some moments in it that I wanted to remember, capture in my memory, maybe remember them later, like a dried flower between the pages of books, which is admired and remembered again.

How touching are the memories of memories!

Most of us live in a world that no longer exists.

Nothing can be completely erased, because if you erase memories from your head, your heart still remembers.

Memories, along with thoughts and emotions, are something like a person’s personal property, and encroaching on them is unethical and unacceptable. Even with the best intentions.

Beautiful memories are like lost jewels.

Loneliness cannot be filled with memories; they only make it worse.

Once you remember, it becomes harder to forget again.

He who lives by memories dies forgotten.

The weight of memories pulls to the bottom of the glass.

After all, memories are not as constraining as Living being, although sometimes the memories torment the soul!

You need to learn to store memories, and not carry them around like a heavy load.

We all need memories to know who we are...

There is no use remembering the past if those memories cannot help in the present.

Memories are not yellowed letters, not old age, not dried flowers and relics, but a living, trembling world full of poetry...

When our pain has already passed, the memory of it is already enchanted by memories.

Today on the Mnogo.ru website in the section of the interactive quiz “Quote of the Day” the following was heard: interest Ask: “Memories that started with a small ripple are now overwhelming me like a force 10 storm?”

Who might this phrase belong to, and who is the author of these words?

Suggested answers:

Ray Bradberry is a famous American writer, author of the film adaptation of Fahrenheit 451. In his life he created more than eight hundred different works, including fairy tales, poems, poems and so on.

Erich Maria Remarque is the greatest German writer, one of the authors of the so-called “lost generation” along with Ernest Hemingway and Richard Aldington. Known as the author of the novel All Quiet on the Western Front.

Daniel Keyes is an American writer and philologist. He passed away quite recently, in 2014. Known for the novel Flowers for Algernon. The film "Charlie" was based on it. main role in which actor Cliff Robertson won an Oscar. Worked as a professor fiction at Ohio University and received the title of Professor Emeritus.

• It is Daniel Keyes who owns athe echo of these lines from quiz question, and this will be the correct answer, for which you will receive 5 points.

Harry remains in his apartment as unremarkable little things, scattered here and there in different corners of small, dark rooms. His lighter is forever lost among old books on narrow shelves, and dust never gets under a forgotten cup of tea on the coffee table. Every day and every second, the Sun moves slowly along the ecliptic around the Earth. They live in the Age of Aquarius, and Harry, wrapping his arms around Louis's neck, touching his smooth skin with cool fingers, tells him that this good sign. At this time - in their time - everything will be different. Better. Tighter. Happier. Harry looks at him carefully with his moist green eyes, barely audibly asking: “Isn’t that true, Louis?” Louis knows nothing about astrology and is unlikely to be able to find at least one constellation in the sky, but he nods, touching his lips to Harry’s forehead and closes his eyes. His heart beats dully in his chest and doesn’t even lose its rhythm for a second. Harry leaves his apartment with a suffocating smell of hope, penetrating into every crevice, soaking into the furniture, into the yellow, faded curtains on the dark windows and Louis. There is no escape from it, and even the gray smoke of cigarettes cannot stop it. Louis buries his head under the blankets and just remembers, remembers, remembers. Not of my own free will, but because I can’t hide from memories - just like from dense air. Something slowly squeezes in his chest and scratches from the inside with its nails. Is it conscience? Louis closes his eyes tightly, trying to get rid of this out of place annoying feeling and from a quiet voice persistently whispering right in his ear: “Isn’t that true, Louis?” Every night, Harry laughs loudly, throwing his head up, causing his hair to fall in soft waves down his back. Harry laughs, and his laughter spreads through the forest, scaring rare birds. The fuss of their wings is lost somewhere in the green crowns of centuries-old trees, and Louis presses his back against the trunk of one of them, feeling the hard bark digging into his skin, even through his clothes. He pulls Harry towards him, intertwining his fingers and inhaling - unusually so deeply and deeply - the fresh air with the smell of wet grass. Harry looks at him with a long, trusting gaze, from which - Louis knows - there is nowhere to hide, even if you close your eyes. It eats deep into the skin, leaving a bitter aftertaste of despair and cheap coffee on the tongue. Harry looks at him and asks, barely audible: “Isn’t that true, Louis?” Louis is drowning in promises that are as empty as balloons. He loses count of them, and hardly remembers what Harry asks this time, but he still nods, lifting the corners of his lips in an almost sincere smile. And Louis wakes up every night, short breaths filling his lungs heavy air saturated with memories. It tickles your nostrils, making your already truly tired heart beat quickly. It’s as if the hard bark is still digging into his back, and the laughter just doesn’t want to leave his head. Louis sits up in bed, listening to the steady breathing next to him. Harry remains in his apartment as unremarkable little things, scattered here and there in different corners of small, dark rooms. His lighter is forever lost among old books on narrow shelves, and dust never gets under a forgotten cup of tea on the coffee table, but only things in the closet are gradually replaced by strangers, and the empty cup is no longer his. Louis runs his hand over his face, closing his eyes and nodding automatically. Just like that, into the void. Out of habit. They live in the Age of Aquarius, and everything will definitely be fine with them, except that the adverb “together” does not fit into this sentence. Really, Harry?

Here's something else that's interesting. I should have held a grudge against Guarino for deceiving me, Rosa and Matt. But I remember him with gratitude. He was always kind to me. A smile, a friendly pat on the back, an encouraging word - everything that I received so rarely. He treated me, even then, as a rational being.

Maybe it smacks of ingratitude, but what really angers me is the treatment of me as a guinea pig. Nemur's constant reminders that he made me who I am, or that one day thousands of idiots will become real people.

How can I make him understand that he did not create me? Nemur makes the same mistake as people who make fun of an underdeveloped person, not realizing that he experiences the same feelings as them. He has no idea that long before I met him I was already a person.

I'm learning to hold back my resentment, be more patient, and wait. I'm growing. Every day I learn something new about myself, and memories that start with a small ripple overwhelm me with a ten-force storm.

June 11.

Misunderstandings began as soon as we arrived at the Chalmerm Hotel in Chicago and discovered that our rooms would not be available until tomorrow evening and we would have to spend the night at the nearby Independence Hotel. Nemours was beside himself. He took this as a personal insult and quarreled with everyone - from the bellhop to the manager. He waited in the foyer while each of them, in turn, went to a higher rank, in the hope that he would resolve the tricky issue.

We stood in the midst of all this confusion - heaps of luggage dumped in disorder, porters with carts flying at breakneck speed, symposium participants who had not seen each other for a whole year and now greeted each other with feeling - and with embarrassment growing every minute, we watched as Nemours yelled at the representatives International Association psychologists.

Finally it became clear that nothing could be done and the hopelessness of our situation dawned on Nemours. It so happened that most of the young participants stopped at Independence. Many of them had heard about Nemours' experiment and knew who I was. Wherever we went, someone would sit on the side and begin to ask my opinion about a variety of things - from a new tax to archaeological finds in Finland. It was a direct challenge, but my knowledge base allowed me to freely discuss almost any problem. However, I soon noticed that with every question addressed to me, Nemours’s face became more and more gloomy. Therefore, when a nice young doctor from Falmouth College asked how I could explain the cause of my mental retardation, I said that no one could answer this question better than Professor Nemours.

Having waited for the moment to show himself, Nemur, for the first time in the entire time of our acquaintance, deigned to put his hand on my shoulder.

It is impossible to say with certainty what causes this type of phenylketonuria - an unusual biochemical or genetic situation, ionizing radiation, natural radioactivity or a viral attack on the embryo. The important thing is that the result was a defective gene that produces ... let's call it a “wandering enzyme” that stimulates defective biochemical reactions. The resulting new amino acids compete with normal enzymes, causing brain damage.

The girl frowned. She was not expecting a lecture, but Nemours had already seized the lectern and hastened to develop his thought:

I call this “competitive enzyme inhibition.” For example, imagine that the enzyme produced by the defective gene is a key that can be inserted into the lock of the central nervous system, but which is not turns in him. Consequently, the real key - the required enzyme - can no longer penetrate the lock. Result? Irreversible damage to brain tissue protein.

But if it is irreversible,” one of the psychologists who joined the audience intervened in the conversation, “how was Mr. Gordon’s cure possible?

“Ah,” Nemours cooed, “I said that tissue destruction is irreversible, but not the process itself.” Many scientists have already managed to reverse it by injecting substances that react with defective enzymes, changing, so to speak, the molecular bit of the key. This principle is fundamental in our methodology. But first we remove the damaged areas of the brain and force the transplanted brain tissue to synthesize protein at a high rate...

Just a minute, professor,” I interrupted him on the highest note. - What can you say about Rahajamati’s work on this topic?

Who? - he asked again incomprehensibly.

Rahajamati. In it, he criticizes Tanida's theory - the concept of changing the chemical structure of enzymes that block metabolism.

Nemur frowned:

Where was the article translated?

It hasn't been translated yet. I read it in the Indian Journal of Psychopathology a few days ago.

Nemur looked around at those present and tried to wave me off:

This article should not be given too much of great importance. Our results speak for themselves.

But Tanida himself proposed the theory of blocking the wandering enzyme by recombination, and now claims that ...

Well, well, Charlie. Just because a person was the first to propose a theory does not mean that the last word will forever remain his, especially in its experimental development. I think everyone will agree that the research carried out in the USA and England is far superior to the Indian and Japanese work. We have the best laboratories and the best equipment in the world.

But this cannot refute Rahajamati’s assertions that...

Now is not the time to go into this. I am sure that this issue will be discussed in detail here.

Nemur started talking to some old acquaintance and completely disconnected from me. Amazing. I took Strauss aside and bombarded him with questions:

What do you say? You always said that I was too sensitive for him. Why was he so offended?

You made him feel superior, and he can't stand it.

No seriously. Tell me the truth.

Charlie, it's time for you to stop suspecting everyone of wanting to laugh at you. Nemur knows nothing about these articles because he has not read them.

Doesn't he know Hindi and Japanese? Can't be!

Not everyone has such aptitude for languages. how about you.

Then how can he deny Rahajamati's conclusions and brush aside Tanida's doubts about the reliability of control methods? He should know...

“Wait,” Strauss said thoughtfully. - These must be very recent works. They haven't been translated yet.

Are you saying you didn't read them either?

He shrugged:

I'm probably even a worse linguist than he is. True, I am sure that before publishing the final article, Nemours will carefully comb through all the journals.

Maybe it smacks of ingratitude, but what really angers me is the treatment of me as a guinea pig. Nemur's constant reminders that he made me who I am, or that one day thousands of idiots will become real people.

How can I make him understand that he did not create me? Nemur makes the same mistake as people who make fun of an underdeveloped person, not realizing that he experiences the same feelings as them. He has no idea that long before I met him I was already a person.

I'm learning to hold back my resentment, be more patient, and wait. I'm growing. Every day I learn something new about myself, and memories that start with a small ripple overwhelm me with a ten-force storm.

June 11.

Misunderstandings began as soon as we arrived at the Chalmerm Hotel in Chicago and discovered that our rooms would not be available until tomorrow evening and we would have to spend the night at the nearby Independence Hotel. Nemours was beside himself. He took this as a personal insult and quarreled with everyone - from the bellhop to the manager. He waited in the foyer while each of them, in turn, went to a higher rank, in the hope that he would resolve the tricky issue.

We stood in the midst of all this confusion - heaps of luggage dumped in disorder, porters with carts flying at breakneck speed, symposium participants who had not seen each other for a whole year and now greeted each other with feeling - and watched with embarrassment growing every minute as Nemours yelled at the representatives of the International association of psychologists.

Finally it became clear that nothing could be done and the hopelessness of our situation dawned on Nemours. It so happened that most of the young participants stopped at Independence. Many of them had heard about Nemours' experiment and knew who I was. Wherever we went, someone would sit on the side and begin to ask my opinion on a variety of things - from a new tax to archaeological finds in Finland. It was a direct challenge, but my knowledge base allowed me to freely discuss almost any problem. However, I soon noticed that with every question addressed to me, Nemours’s face became more and more gloomy. Therefore, when a nice young doctor from Falmouth College asked how I could explain the cause of my mental retardation, I said that no one could answer this question better than Professor Nemours.

Having waited for the moment to show himself, Nemur, for the first time in the entire time of our acquaintance, deigned to put his hand on my shoulder.

It is impossible to say with certainty what causes this type of phenylketonuria - an unusual biochemical or genetic situation, ionizing radiation, natural radioactivity or a viral attack on the embryo. The important thing is that the result was a defective gene that produces ... let's call it a “wandering enzyme” that stimulates defective biochemical reactions. The resulting new amino acids compete with normal enzymes, causing brain damage.

The girl frowned. She was not expecting a lecture, but Nemours had already seized the lectern and hastened to develop his thought:

I call this “competitive enzyme inhibition.” For example, imagine that the enzyme produced by the defective gene is a key that can be inserted into the lock of the central nervous system, but which is not turns in him. Consequently, the real key - the required enzyme - can no longer penetrate the lock. Result? Irreversible damage to brain tissue protein.

But if it is irreversible,” one of the psychologists who joined the audience intervened in the conversation, “how was Mr. Gordon’s cure possible?

“Ah,” Nemours cooed, “I said that tissue destruction is irreversible, but not the process itself.” Many scientists have already managed to reverse it by injecting substances that react with defective enzymes, changing, so to speak, the molecular bit of the key. This principle is fundamental in our methodology. But first we remove the damaged areas of the brain and force the transplanted brain tissue to synthesize protein at a high rate...

Just a minute, professor,” I interrupted him on the highest note. - What can you say about Rahajamati’s work on this topic?

Who? - he asked again incomprehensibly.

Rahajamati. In it, he criticizes Tanida's theory - the concept of changing the chemical structure of enzymes that block metabolism.

Nemur frowned.