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Remembrance and reflection how allied. What thin partitions divides sense from thought.
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Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.- Oliver Goldsmith
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Remembrances embellish life but forgetfulness alone makes it possible. [Fr., Les souvenirs embellissent la vie, l’oubli seul la rend possible.]
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Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.
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Several sorts of memory exist in us; body and mind each possesses one peculiar to itself. Nostalgia, for instance, is a malady of the physical memory.
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Slight withal may be the things which bring back on the heart the weight which it would fling aside forever.
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So live that your memories will be part of your happiness.- Anonymous
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So may it be: that so dead Yesterday, No sad-eyed ghost but generous and gay, May serve you memories like almighty wine, When you are old.
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Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.- Willa Cather
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Spirit, that made those heroes dare To die, and leave their children free, Bid Time and Nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and thee.
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Sweet memory, wafted by the gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
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Take only memories, leave nothing but footprints.
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Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.
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That is my major preoccupation –memory, the kingdom of memory. I want to protect and enrich that kingdom, glorify that kingdom and serve it.
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That translucent alabaster of our memories.
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The act of smelling something, anything, is remarkably like the act of thinking. Immediately at the moment of perception, you can feel the mind going to work, sending the odor around from place to place, setting off complex repertories through the brain, polling one center after another for signs of re recognition, for old memories and old connection.
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The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.
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The course of none has been along so beaten a road that they remember not fondly some resting-places in their journeys, some turns of their path in which lovely prospects broke in upon them, some soft plats of green refreshing to their weary feet. Confiding love, generous friendship, disinterested humanity, require no recondite learning, no high imagination, to enable an honest heart to appreciate and feel them.
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The effectiveness of our memory banks is determined not by the total number of facts we take in, but the number we wish to reject.
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The erection of a monument is superfluous; the memory of us will last, if we have deserved it in our lives. [Lat., Impensa monumenti supervacua est: memoria nostra durabit, si vita meruimus.]
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