Mix Pictures of the Mind:
the light of evening
  

  
But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

W. H. Auden
"In Memory of W. B. Yeats"  (1939)
Collected Poems
  

  
It is no accident that the cultivation of memory received new and careful attention from Renaissance educators. In the education treatises of Erasmus, the memory was understood as a crucial, creative faculty, already on its way toward becoming for Vico an instrument of the creative imagination. ...

The paradox of this particular continuity is that it has to leap a thousand years. That is why even the act of memory always involves an implicit necromantic metaphor: a resuscitation.

Thomas M. Greene
The Light in Troy:
Imitation and Discovery in Renaissance Poetry  (1982)
  

  
"The Lieutenant told me before he bought it to tell you that he will always have his eye on you every minute ... and that he expects your names to shine!"

Robert A. Heinlein
(U.S. Naval Academy 1929;
 Lieutenant (jg), U.S. Navy, retired)
Starship Troopers  (1959)
  

  
Far-called, our navies melt away;
    On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
    Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget — lest we forget!

Rudyard Kipling
"Recessional"  (1897)
Rudyard Kipling's Verse, Definitive Edition
  

  
Clouds had wrapped the sky and had descended as fog to wrap the streets below, as if the sky were engulfing the city. She could see the whole of Manhattan Island, a long, triangular shape cutting into an invisible ocean. It looked like the prow of a sinking ship; a few tall buildings still rose above it, like funnels, but the rest was disappearing under gray-blue coils, going down slowly into vapor and space. This was how they had gone — she thought — Atlantis, the city that sank into the ocean, and all the other kingdoms that vanished, leaving the same legend in all the languages of men, and the same longing.

Ayn Rand
Part II, Chapter IX:
  The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
Atlas Shrugged
  

  
For some reason, he put a considerable distance between himself and the taffy-stand; but before long halted in the presence of a red-faced man who flourished a long fork over a small cooking apparatus and shouted jovially: "Winnies! Here's your hot winnies! Hot winny-wurst! Food for the over-worked brain, nourishing for the weak stummick, entertaining for the tired business man! Here's your hot winnies, three for a nickel, a half-a-dime, the twentieth-pot-of-a-dollah!"

This, above all nectar and ambrosia, was the favourite dish of Penrod Schofield. Nothing inside him now craved it — on the contrary! But memory is the great hypnotist; his mind argued against his inwards that opportunity knocked at his door: "winny-wurst" was rigidly forbidden by the home authorities. ...

Penrod placed the nickel in the red hand of the red-faced man.

Booth Tarkington
Penrod  (1914)
  

  
The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

William Butler Yeats
"In Memory of Eva Gore-Booth and Con Markiewicz"  (1927)
The Poems, Second Edition

Remembrance:
memory & remembering

Speaking through Texts:
a local habitation and a name