Too many years fighting back tears. Why can't the past just die? Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye. Try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try! No more memories, no more silent tears, no more gazing across the wasted years. Help me say goodbye.

Memories: (A) Very Pleasant; (B) Rather Sad.

The day happened to be Sunday, and when I looked on the loveliness around me, and thought how it had grown and changed, and how the little wild flowers had been forming, and the voices of the birds had been strengthening, by day and by night, under the sun and under the stars, while poor I lay burning and tossing on my bed, the mere remembrance of having burned and tossed there, came like a check upon my peace.

The streets looked small, of course. The streets that we have only seen as children always do I believe when we go back to them

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.

Our affections are our consolation and comfort; and memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better