Quotes About Memory

You will forget me soon. Oh dear one, hate me rather than forget.

The Nineteenth Century And After Though the great song return no more There's keen delight in what we have: The rattle of pebbles on the shore Under the receding wave.

They shall be remembered forever, They shall be alive forever, They shall be speaking forever, The people shall hear them forever.

O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack, For Peg and Meg and Paris' love That had so straight a back, Are gone away, and some that stay Have changed their silk for sack.

Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a little.

A dead man who never caused others to die seldom rates a statue.

Shall memory restore The steps and the shore, The face and the meeting place;

What living occasion can, Be just to the absent?

Two hundred years from now nobody will care much about our politics. But if we were truly moved by the things that happened to us, they may read our poems.

To forget the past so easily seems scarcely loyal to oneself. I am so selfishly absorbed in my present self that I have grown not to care a damn about that ever increasing collection of past selves- those dear, dead gentlemen who one after the other have tenanted the temple of this flesh and handed on the torch of my life and personal identity before creeping away silently and modestly to rest.

Hardly anybody recognizes the most significant moments of their life at the time they happen.

What I remember I cannot tell though it is there in all that I say

Certain words now in our knowledge we will not use again, and we will never forget them. We need them. Like the back of the picture.

When I was me I remembered I could remember what was not there but may have been there once

where will the meanings be when the words are forgotten will I see again where you are

The wind lifts the whole branch of the poplar carries it up and out and holds it there while each leaf is the whole tree reaching from its roots in the dark earth out through all its rings of memory to where it has never been

As those who are gone now keep wandering through our words sounds of paper following them at untold distances so I wake again in the old house where at times I have believed that I was waiting for myself and many years have gone taking with them the semblance of youth reason after reason ranges of blue hills who did I think was missing those days neither here nor there my own dog waiting to be known

To remember Is not to rehearse, but to hear what never Has fallen silent.

for a time beyond measure there were no rooms and now many have forgotten the sky

Let all lights but yours be nothing to me. Let the memory of tongues not unnerve me so that I stumble or quake. But lead me at times beside the still waters; There when I crouch to drink let me catch a glimpse of your image Before it is obscured with my own…

Testimone Voglio raccontare di com'erano le foreste Dovrò parlare in una lingua dimenticata p#109

What I thought I had left I kept finding again but when I went looking for what I thought I remembered as anyone could have foretold it was not there when I went away looking for what I had to do I found that I was living where I was a stranger but when I retraced my steps the familiar vision

Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.

part memory part distance remaining mine in the ways that I learn to miss you