A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.

A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.

But woe to him, who left to moan,
Reviews the hours of brightness gone.

But woe to him, who left to moan,
Reviews the hours of brightness gone.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my read more

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

When promise and patience are wearing thin,
When endurance is almost driven in,
When our angels stand read more

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.

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

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

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot read more

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.

The painful memories of the past will shape our future; the moments we cherish last forever in a beautiful array read more

The painful memories of the past will shape our future; the moments we cherish last forever in a beautiful array of remembrance.

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

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

Every man's memory is his private literature.

Every man's memory is his private literature.