In every failure there is also a favorable element, because it reveals the whole ridiculousness of human value judgments... Failure is also a very severe parent of truth.
No one can be said to be ambitious so long as his ambition allows another passion to dominate him.
Every man has more qualities than he thinks, but only success makes them worthwhile.
Memories are like flakes left forgotten in empty nests.
The very fund of our existence is memory, that is, the extension of the past into the present, that is, duration that is active and irreversible.
Any memory is only after injuries...
The memory: ...greenhouse of past happiness.
To forget is to forgive.
When you reach the winter of life, you feed your imagination with the economy of past dreams, just as the bear in winter feeds on the economy left in the body from the abundant time of summer.
The most beautiful days of our lives are the ones we bury in the crypt of memories.
Remembering is a dynamic principle; forgetting means weariness, cessation of movement, decline, and becoming in a state of relative inertia.
The book of life is read by the lamp of memories.
The memory: ...hope turned upside down: you look at the bottom of the well as you would look at the top of the mountain.
Memories, bastard children of dead moments. They wander in the void and knock at our window at night. That's how dreams die one by one... And we smile and look away... And no one knows that we come from the grave.
The soul is a target - the memories, the mounds from whose cross time erases the name.
The past is the night - and the memories, the candles, which with time go out.
It is a terrible burden to carry the memory of happy days behind you. Memory becomes a real torture chamber, desire - a fire that consumes fire.
The memory: ...rose from the same stem as reality but without thorns.
Memory is like a bronze plate covered with marks that time obliviously erases, if we do not often return with the chisel.
Memories: ...a music that comes to us from somewhere beyond the horizon.
We often think that the things we have forgotten were not even there.
The most precious memories are those to which our victorious suffering is bound.
Man likes to return to the source; the river does not return to its source. This is because man is an intelligence and the river an element. Past, present, future are one and the same... Man is God by thought. He sees, feels, lives in all points of his existence at the same time. He contemplates himself, understands himself, possesses himself, revives and judges himself by the years he has lived. In a word, he relives as much as he likes to relive through memories. Sometimes this is his suffering, but also his greatness.
All the dead ascend in us to die a second time.
Some people's memories are called remorse.
Every heart has its bridge of junk, which it never deigns to throw away, but shakes from time to time.
Memories are like books in your library. Look for one when you have nothing new to read.
The last years of life, I live from the first.
Memories are like monks' rosaries are like monks' rosaries. When you string them on your fingers, although they are all the same, each one has its own personal legend.
The memories: living rings, on dead fingers.