Pictures made in childhood are painted in bright hues.

Memories are hunting horns
whose noise dies away in the wind.

I have a terrible memory; I never forget a thing.

Someone will remember us
I say
even in another time.

A monument is money wasted. My memory will live on if my life has deserved it.

Anything one is remembering is a repetition, but existing as a human being that is being, listening, and hearing is never repetition.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall a happy time in the midst of wretchedness.

One form of loneliness is to have a memory and no one to share it with.

Memory is like the moon, which hath its new, its full, and its wane.

Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth but not its twin.

Memories are like corks left out of bottles. They swell. They no longer fit.

I’ve a grand memory for forgetting.

Memory is more indelible than ink.