Quotes About Memory

I'll note you in my book of memory.

For you there's rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savor all the winter long.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in theeCalls back the lovely April of her prime.

They are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time: after your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill report while you live.

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back,Wherein he puts alms for oblivion.

Macbeth: Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,Raze out the written troubles of the brain,And with some sweet oblivious antidoteCleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuffWhich weighs upon the heart?Doctor: Therein the patientMust minister to himself.Macbeth: Throw physic to the dogs; I'll none of it.

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth bringsThat then I scorn to change my state with kings.

But men are men; the best sometimes forget.

While memory holds a seatIn this distracted globe. Remember thee!Yea, from the table of my memoryI'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

Not marble, nor the gilded monumentsOf princes, shall outlive this powerful rime.

Remember who commended thy yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever cross-gartered.

Sweets to the sweet: farewell!

If ever thou shalt love,In the sweet pangs of it remember me;For such as I am all true lovers are:Unstaid and skittish in all motions elseSave in the constant image of the creatureThat is belov'd.

These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pia mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion.

True is it that we have seen better days.

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime.

Within the book and volume of my brain.

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

The memory be green.

Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,But not remember'd in thy epitaph!

O! my oblivion is a very Antony,And I am all forgotten.

O! you must wear your rue with a difference. There's a daisy; I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died.

There's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year.

If you remember'st not the slightest follyThat ever love did make thee run into,Thou hast not lov'd.