But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will.

Memory is the greatest of artists, and effaces from your mind what is unnecessary.

Never forget what you need to remember.

Memory is the cabinet of the imagination, the treasury of reason, the registry of conscience, and, the council chamber of thought.

The charm, one might say the genius of memory, is that it is choosy, chancy, and temperamental: it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.

As with most fine things, chocolate has its season. There is a simple memory aid that you can use to determine whether it is the correct time to order chocolate dishes: any month whose name contains the letter A, E, or U is the proper time for chocolate.

There is not any memory with less satisfaction than the memory of some temptation we resisted.

If I could remember your name, I'd ask you where I left my keys.

It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment --but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer?

The more connections that can be made in the brain, the more integrated the experience is within memory.

Memory is the thing you forget with.

Contemporaries appreciate the person rather than their merit, posterity will regard the merit rather than the person.

The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels: it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.

Lord, keep my memory green.

You are told a lot about your education, but some beautiful, sacred memory, preserved since childhood, is perhaps the best education of all. If a man carries many such memories into life with him, he is saved for the rest of his days. And even if only one good memory is left in our hearts, it may also be the instrument of our salvation one day.

If I could remember the names of all these particles, I'd be a botanist.

Memory moderates prosperity, decreases adversity, controls youth and delights old age.

Forget those things that aren't worth remembering.

Memory depends very much on the perspicuity, regularity, and order of our thoughts. Many complain of the want of memory, when the defect is in the judgment; and others, by grasping at all, retain nothing.

To be remembered after we are dead, is but poor recompense for being treated with contempt while we are living.

A retentive memory may be a good thing, but the ability to forget is the true token of greatness.

Every man's memory is his private literature.

The light of memory, or rather the light that memory lends to things, is the palest light of all. I am not quite sure whether I am dreaming or remembering, whether I have lived my life or dreamed it. Just as dreams do, memory makes me profoundly aware of the unreality, the evanescence of the world, a fleeting image in the moving water.

The true art of memory is the art of attention.

Memories are all we really own.

For the memory of love is sweet, though the love itself were in vain. And what I have lost of pleasure, assuage what I find of pain.

What we learn with pleasure we never forget.

The memory represents to us not what we choose but what it pleases.

The selective memory isn't selective enough.

The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.

When one of these flashbacks was reported to me by a conscious patient, I was incredulous. For example, when a mother told me she was suddenly aware, as my electrode touched the cortex, of being in the kitchen listening to the voice of her little boy who was playing outside in the yard.

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

Our memory is like a shop in the window of which is exposed now one, now another photograph of the same person. And as a rule the most recent exhibit remains for some time the only one to be seen.

The best memory is that which forgets nothing, but injuries. Write kindness in marble and write injuries in the dust.

Time -- our youth -- it never really goes, does it? It is all held in our minds.

Take only memories, leave nothing but footprints.

Memory is like an orgasm. It's a lot better if you don't have to fake it.

It's a pleasure to share one's memories. Everything remembered is dear, endearing, touching, precious. At least the past is safe --though we didn't know it at the time. We know it now. Because it's in the past; because we have survived.

God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.

Don't remember what you can infer.

The act of smelling something, anything, is remarkably like the act of thinking. Immediately at the moment of perception, you can feel the mind going to work, sending the odor around from place to place, setting off complex repertories through the brain, polling one center after another for signs of re recognition, for old memories and old connection.

Our moments of inspiration are not lost though we have no particular poem to show for them; for those experiences have left an indelible impression, and we are ever and anon reminded of them.

Those who cannot remember the past will spend a lot of time looking for their cars in mall parking lots.

Memory: We retain: 10 percent of what we read; 20 percent of what we he!0 percent of what we see •50 percent of what we hear and see; 70 percent of what we say; 90 percent of what we say and do

In memory everything seems to happen to music.

The effectiveness of our memory banks is determined not by the total number of facts we take in, but the number we wish to reject.