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Far from our eyes th' Enchanting Objects set, Advantage by the friendly Distance get.

I do perceive that the old proverb be not alwaies trew, for I do finde that the absence of my Nath, doth breeds in me the more continuall remembrance of him.

Out of sighte, out of mynde.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands, And many friends I've met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget.

Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.

If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.

The mother may forget the child That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And all that thou hast done for me!

Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain, Than thus remember thee.

To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.

When promise and patience are wearing thin, When endurance is almost driven in, When our angels stand in a waiting hush, Remember the Marne and Ferdinand Foch.

Though sands be black and bitter black the sea, Night lie before me and behind me night, And God within far Heaven refuse to light The consolation of the dawn for me,-- Between the shadowy burns of Heaven and Hell, It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell With memory.

Remembrances embellish life but forgetfulness alone makes it possible.

Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things.

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.

Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes that start When Memory plays an old tune on the heart!

What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill.

A great many complimentary things have been said about the faculty of memory, and if you look in a good quotation book you will find them neatly arranged.

Do not trust your memory; it is a net full of holes; the most beautiful prizes slip through it.

Don't you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt? Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown; Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembl'd with fear at your frown!