Why can we remember the tiniest detail that has happened to us, and not remember how many times we have told it to the same person.

Neither love nor fire can subsist without perpetual motion; both cease to live so soon as they cease to hope, or to fear.

Everyone complains of his memory, and no one complains of his judgment.

How comes it that our memories are good enough to retain even the minutest details of what has befallen us, but not to recollect how many times we have recounted to the same person?

The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body; after all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind

Memory is not always used to remember,its sometimes used to forget