Pictures made in childhood are painted in bright hues.

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

Time robs us of all, even of memory.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

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

Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

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.

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