C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train.
Keep this remembrance for thy Julias sake.
Riveted, Screwed to my memory.
Remembrance is the only paradise out of which we cannot be driven away.
O, it comes over my memory, as doth the raven over the infected house, boding to all.
She sent him rosemary, to the intent that he should hold her in remembrance.
The leafy blossoming present time springs from the whole past, remembered and unrememberable.
Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear.
His years with others must the sweeter be For those brief days he spent in loving me.
Every one can remember that which has interested himself.
I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me.
You cant order remembrance out of the mind; and a wrong that was a wrong yesterday must be a wrong to-morrow.
Some people regret that they have poor memories. Alas! it is much more difficult to forget.
Remembrance of the dead soon fades. Alas! in their tombs they decay more slowly than in our hearts.
Let never day nor night unhallowd pass, But still remember what the Lord has done.
She placd it sad, with needless fear,
Lest time should shake my wavering soul
Unconscious that her image there Held every sense in fast control.
What is excellent,
As God lives, is permanent;
Hearts are dust, hearts loves remain, Hearts love will meet thee again.
Sooner shall the blue ocean melt to air,
Sooner shall earth resolve itself to sea,
Than I resign thine image, oh, my fair! Or think of anything, excepting these.
Remembrances last longer than present reality, as I have conserved blossoms many years, but never fruits. Yes, there are tender female souls which intoxicate themselves only among the blossoms of the vineyard of joy, as others do only with the berries of the vinehill.
This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past The forms that once have been.
Departed suns their trails of splendor drew
Across departed summers: whispers came
From voices, long ago resolved again
Into the primeval Silence, and we twain,
Ghosts of our present selves, yet still the same, As in a spectral mirror wandered there.
Go where glory waits thee;
But while fame elates thee,
O, still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest,
To thine ear is sweetest, O, then remember me.
Oh! only those
Whose souls have felt this one idolatry,
Can tell how precious is the slightest thing
Affection gives and hallows! A dead flower
Will long be kept, remembrancer of looks That made each leaf a treasure.
Man hath a weary pilgrimage,
As through the world he wends;
On every stage, from youth to age,
Still discontent attends;
With heaviness he casts his eye
Upon the road before,
And still remembers with a sigh, The days that are no more.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes oer me
That my soul cannot resist;
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain.
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that oershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
A boys will is the winds will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
I remember, I remember,
The fir-trees dark and high:
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky;
It was a childish ignorance,
But now tis little joy
To know Im farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.
O years, gone down into the past,
What pleasant memories come to me
Of your untroubled days of peace, And hours almost of ecstasy.