Write what I tell you in your book of memory.

Someday I’ll write and tell you all the things you mean to me in my mind. Shall I?

Dear John, tell me everything. Write it all down, that way, we’ll be with each other all the time, even if we’re not with each other at all.

History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.

Remembrance of things past, I do that all the time.

History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.

Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.

Write what you know.

I think that when you remember, remember, remember everything like that, you could go on until you remember what was there before you were in the world.

A word of all the words I've got in there...
But if I wrote... Let's get it written, then,
This letter I've composed a hundred times,
Written and rewritten in my mind: it's ready
And all I have to do is lay my soul
Open beside the paper and copy it out.

at last you, will say
(maybe without speaking)

(there are mountains
inside your skull
garden and chaos, ocean
and hurricane; certain
corners of rooms, portraits
of great-grandmothers, curtains
of a particular shade;
your deserts; your private
dinosaurs; the first
woman)

all i need to know:
tell me
everything
just as it was
from the beginning.

And now you'll be telling stories
of my coming back
and they won't be false, and they won't be true
but they'll be real

Your past is always your past. Even if you forget it, it remembers you.

You remind me of everything that followed.