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Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train,
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
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!
Though sands be black and bitter black the sea,
Night lie before me and behind me night,
read more
Though sands be black and bitter black the sea,
Night lie before me and behind me night,
And God within far Heaven refuse to light
The consolation of the dawn for me,--
Between the shadowy burns of Heaven and Hell,
It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell
With memory.
If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth; if I prefer read more
If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my
mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.
The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.
The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.
Experience teaches that a strong memory is generally joined to a weak judgment.
Experience teaches that a strong memory is generally joined to a weak judgment.
The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones read more
The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, read more
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment -- but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?
