The true art of memory is the art of attention.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

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.

Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!

Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start
When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!

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.]

The palest ink is better than the best memory.

The palest ink is better than the best 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.

Memory [is] like a purse,--if it be over-full that it cannot
shut, all will drop out of it. Take read more

Memory [is] like a purse,--if it be over-full that it cannot
shut, all will drop out of it. Take heed of a gluttonous
curiosity to feed on many things, lest the greediness of the
appetite of thy memory spoil the digestion thereof.

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

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!