An injury is much sooner forgotten than an insult.

Not the power to remember, but its very opposite, the power to forget, is a necessary condition for our existence.

When you don't look back, I guess the feelings start to fade away.

I'd rather look forward and dream, then look backwards and regret.

Someday, I'll forget the color of your eyes, the sound of your voice will be unfamiliar. Someday, I'll forget that I once loved you, the feelings will have faded. Someday, I'll forget.

It's hard to forget someone you'll always remember.

She forgot where she was, why she was there, where she'd been and would rather be, forgot about everything.

Promise me, Pooh, that you won't forget me ever because if I thought you would, I wouldn't leave.

The things we remember best are those better forgotten.

We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.

I felt conscious of youth because I remembered so little.

There are times when forgetting can be just as important as remembering and perhaps even more difficult.

It's better to forget than remember me and cry.

I didn't have a chance to make my mark in the world. I didn't do anything unique, nothing that will change the course of history. I don't want to be forgotten. I want people to remember me.

I look in their dying eyes, feel every wound that will never heal, every need that will never be met, and I take my photographs, I get the shot, and when the job is done and the photo's printed, I let it go. All of it. It's over and done with. Then I go on to another assignment.

I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of my life. If I didn't write them down, I should probably forget all about them.

And this thing with yearbook? It seems like everyone's in this big rush, to make this book to supposedly remember what happened. But it's not even what really happened. It's what everyone thinks was supposed to happen. 'Cause if you made a book of what really happened, it'd be a very upsetting book! At least, in my humble opinion.

The snow is like a white sea, one could go out and be lost in it. . . and forget the world.

Because of you, I remember the good times, and because of the good times, I remember you.

And the children have forgotten, if they knew at all. Father, do you remember?

And what I remember best is that the door to your room was the door to mine.

Their punishment is over; the shame and disgrace of it are all used up. But as for me, look into my face and you will know that crimes dropped upon me, as from a high building, and although I cannot speak of them or explain the degrading details, I have remembered much.

Each night I am nailed into place and forget who I am.

In the naming of you, I named all things you are. . . except the ditch where I left you once, like an old root that wouldn't take hold. That ditch, I want so much to forget and that each day you try to forget.

I loved you many other times and I have been, for months, trying to drown it.

Some things I wish I could forget.

. . . trying to recall the life she lost, though it wasn't much.

I shall not forget him while I can keep my feet among the living. If in the dead world they forget the dead, I say there, too, I shall remember him, my friend.

It takes a minute to have a crush on someone, an hour to like someone and a day to love someone - but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.