C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917.
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Men are men; the best sometimes forget.
It is sure the hardest science to forget!
Oh, if, in being forgotten, we could only forget.
Forget thyself to marble.
And when he is out of sight, quickly also is he out of mind.
Thomas à Kempis.
Quit the world, and the world forgets you.
It is far off; and rather like a dream than an assurance that my remembrance warrants.
There is nothing new except what is forgotten.
The pyramids themselves, doting with age, have forgotten the names of their founders.
There is no remembrance which time does not obliterate, nor pain which death does not terminate.
Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.
We bury love,
Forgetfulness grows over it like grass; That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.
It is sometimes expedient to forget what you know.
When I forget that the stars shine in air
When I forget that beauty is in stars
When I forget that love with beauty is Will I forget thee: till then all things else.
Fill with Forgetfulness, fill high! yet stay
Tis from the past we shadow forth the land
Where smiles, long lost, again shall light our way, Though the past haunt me as a spirityet I ask not to forget!
If eer I win a parting token,
Tis something that has lost its power
A chain that has been used and broken,
A ruind glove, a faded flower;
Something that makes my pleasure less, Something that meansforgetfulness.
Some men treat the God of their fathers as they treat their fathers friend. They do not deny Him; by no means; they only deny themselves to Him, when He is good enough to call upon them.
J. C. and A. W. Hare.
Go, forget mewhy should sorrow
Oer that brow a shadow fling?
Go, forget meand to-morrow
Brightly smile and sweetly sing.
Smilethough I shall not be near thee; Singthough I shall never hear thee.
Forgotten? No, we never do forget;
We let the years go; wash them clean with tears,
Leave them to bleach out in the open day,
Or lock them careful by, like dead friends clothes,
Till we shall dare unfold them without pain But we forget not, never can forget.
D. M. Mulock.
There is nothingno, nothinginnocent or good, that dies and is forgotten; let us hold to that faith or none. An infant, a prattling child, dying in the cradle, will live again in the better thoughts of those that loved it, and play its part through them in the redeeming actions of the world, though its body be burnt to ashes or drowned in the deep sea.