The soft strings of the lute rippled with memories, and the maid's lilting voice made Mary sigh as she closed her eyes. She fell asleep filled with sadness, but without regret.

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth.

There’s no such thing as yesterday, he thought dully. Memory is just today, happening over and over again, stamped indelibly with regret.

I will keep no further journal of that same hesternal torch‐light ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume...

I wouldn't have missed a single minute of it, Not for the whole world.

The world changes too fast. You take your eyes off something that's always been there, and the next minute it's just a memory.