But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not read more

But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.

There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old read more

There's nothing that makes you so aware of the improvisation of human existence as a song unfinished. Or an old address book.

A retentive memory is a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness.

A retentive memory is a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness.

You are told a lot about your education, but some beautiful, sacred memory, preserved since childhood, is perhaps the best read more

You are told a lot about your education, but some beautiful, sacred memory, preserved since childhood, is perhaps the best education of all. If a man carries many such memories into life with him, he is saved for the rest of his days. And even if only one good memory is left in our hearts, it may also be the instrument of our salvation one day.

Memory is like an orgasm. It's a lot better if you don't have to fake it.

Memory is like an orgasm. It's a lot better if you don't have to fake it.

And that's the world in a nutshell, which is an appropriate receptacle.

And that's the world in a nutshell, which is an appropriate receptacle.

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.
[Lat., Vita enim mortuorum in memoria read more

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.
[Lat., Vita enim mortuorum in memoria vivorum est posita.]

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my read more

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Don't you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown;
Who wept with read more

Don't you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?
Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown;
Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembl'd with fear at your frown!