Right now I'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before.
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The great thing about baseball is when you're done, you'll only tell your grandchildren the good things. If they ask me about 1989, I'll tell them I had amnesia.
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It was as if Japan had fallen victim to a case of collective amnesia.
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They say the best quarterbacks have amnesia, they forget last week and move on to next week. Hopefully I go out and perform well.
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There has been sort of a selective amnesia. If you look at the Will Smith movie 'Ali,' it virtually washed away Ali's history in the Nation of Islam. People are being told that Ali stood up for his beliefs, but they're not being told what those beliefs are.
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The best way to keep going forward is to have amnesia. Nashville came out and played extremely hard. We have to forget about that game. Three of our next four games are on the road against good teams. We have no choice but to forget about that game, because it's a long season.
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That will only happen if I have a bout of amnesia or if I feel like mooning someone in the audience.
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A nation that forgets its past can function no better than an individual with amnesia.
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That's what we call a retrograde amnesia, which is an amnesia following the event for a period of time. That's a fairly significant concussion. That person may pass all of these tests, which may not prove one thing or another, and the last thing they need is to go back into a situation where they can face subsequent injury to their head again. But nobody wants to hear this.
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Medical concerns trump legal concerns. I wouldn't withhold an effective treatment from somebody because of the possibility they may have to go to court a year later and their testimony be challenged. We wouldn't do that in any other area of medicine. The important thing to know about this drug is it doesn't put a hole in their memory. It doesn't create amnesia.
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The important thing to know about this drug is it doesn't put a hole in their memory. It doesn't create amnesia.
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Mountains seem to answer an increasing imaginative need in the West. More and more people are discovering a desire for them, and a powerful solace in them. At bottom, mountains, like all wildernesses, challenge our complacent conviction - so easy to lapse into - that the world has been made for humans by humans. Most of us exist for most of the time in worlds which are humanly arranged, themed and controlled. One forgets that there are environments which do not respond to the flick of a switch or the twist of a dial, and which have their own rhythms and orders of existence. Mountains correct this amnesia. By speaking of greater forces than we can possibly invoke, and by confronting us with greater spans of time than we can possibly envisage, mountains refute our excessive trust in the man-made. They pose profound questions about our durability and the importance of our schemes. They induce, I suppose, a modesty in us.
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Every time you go in, it's like starting over. You don't know how you did the other records. You're learning all over. It's some weird musician amnesia, or maybe the road wipes it out.
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Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lostmemories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreamsplay when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?
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Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.
All is as if the world did cease to exist. The city's monuments go unseen, its past unheard, and its culture slowly fading in the dismal sea.
Did Bach ever eatpancakes at midnight?
I rouse Emily to our guests, as she finishes off our fifteenth snowman by setting the head atop its torso. She stands limp at my direction, pointing out the coming shadows and I cannot help but hear a muffled sigh as she decapitates her latest creation with a single push of her hand.
I steal one glance over my shoulder as soon as we are far from the foreboding luminance of the neon glow, and it is there that my stomach leaps into my throat. Squatting just shy of the light and partially concealed by the shade of an alley is a sinister silhouette beneath a crimson cowl, beaming a demonic smile which spans from cheek to swollen cheek.
No debt Her eyes lapse into a stare. No debt someday when all thedreams are gonediscovered for when will that be, Samuel? Three times andthen declines forever.
Heed that the Rue du Bourreau is my domain, and I its malicious sovereign.
This is only a record of broken and apparently unrelated memories, some of them as distinct and sequent as brilliant beads upon a thread, others remote and strange, having the character of crimson dreams with interspaces blank and black -- witch-fires glowing still and red in a great desolation.
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Sometimes waiting makes the culmination that much sweeter.
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She leaves my side and heads deeper intothe apartment singing, if the spirit tries to hide, its temple far away acopper for those they ask, a diamond for those who stay.
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