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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.
Memory is not wisdom; idiots can by rote repeat volumes. Yet what is wisdom without memory?
Memory is not wisdom; idiots can by rote repeat volumes. Yet what is wisdom without memory?
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things read more
Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee.
The palest ink is better than the best memory.
The palest ink is better than the best memory.
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.]
Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
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.
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?
Take only memories, leave nothing but footprints.
Take only memories, leave nothing but footprints.
