Unremembered Quotes

I've just had this fight since I can't even remember.

My biggest fear in life is to be forgotten.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie.

He has not lived badly whose birth and death has been unnoticed by the world.

People say, 'I know you, don't I?' And they expect me to say I know them from their daughter's school or something - they can't place me. And I love that. Long may it last.

When I disappear, I will disappear; there'll be nothing left.

I will not be remembered in history. I have not been shot. I have not launched any great tragedy or victory. I have not borne any great defeat. It was a very normal - it still is a very normal - human life of a political leader.

What I try to do is write about forgotten people, and, in a certain sense, we're all forgotten.

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

They are going to be playing Shaggy and Scooby-Doo for eons and eons, and they're going to forget Casey Kasem - unless they happen to step on his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. I'll be one of those guys people say, 'Who's that?' about. And someone else will say, 'He's just some guy who used to be on the radio.'

The world forgets about people who are not useful.

He is remembered chiefly as the man about whom all is forgotten.

I couldn't help thinking that if I, by pure chance, had found a whole universe in a single unknown book, buried in that endless necropolis, tens of thousands more would remain unexplored, forgotten forever. I felt myself surrounded by millions of abandoned pages, by worlds and souls without an owner sinking in an ocean of darkness, while the world that throbbed outside the library seemed to be losing its memory, day after day, unknowingly, feeling all the wiser the more it forgot.

I want them to forget me.

I never get recognized. Most of the time, when people think they know me, they believe I'm a member of their family. And that's the way I like it. That's just fine.

Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.