The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chawing a hunk of melon in the dust.

He who is afraid of his own memories is cowardly, really cowardly.

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

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

We are able to find everything in our memory, which is like a dispensary or chemical laboratory in which chance steers our hand sometimes to a soothing drug and sometimes to a dangerous poison.

I’ve a grand memory for forgetting.

We are so constituted that we believe the most incredible things, and once they are engraved upon the memory, woe to him who would endeavor to erase them.

Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.

I think heaven will not be as good as earth, unless it bring with it that sweet power to remember, which is the staple of heaven here.