Memory (n.) exists because the mind is narrow: unable to hold many ideas in view at once, it needed a repository.
Memory (n.) must be trusted for our old conclusions, or we must become sceptics or yield to whoever last studied the question.
Memory (n.) is the power to revive again in our minds those ideas which after imprinting have disappeared, or have been laid aside out of sight.
Memory (n.) is the point of thinking: a mind that cannot lay up its thoughts and recall them on occasion has no reason to think at all.
Memory (n.) would not burden itself with compositions of ideas except to make them general — and would not make them general except to name them for discourse.
Memory (n.) is a present representation of a past action, so why should it not show you as having done what you never did, as dreams do?
Memory (n.) is the ideas I can lay by at pleasure; perception is the ideas that force themselves on me — turn my eyes to the noon sun and I cannot avoid the light.
Memory (n.) gives knowledge of past existence: it will always be true that water existed on 10 July 1688 — but no more certain that it exists today than the colours on its bubble.
Memory (n.) is the only place an idea can be when it is not in view; what is neither in view nor in memory is in the mind no way at all, as if it had never been there.
Memory (n.) is a storehouse with nothing stored in it: our ideas are actually nowhere, and remembering is only the power to paint a perception anew with the added sense that we have had it before.
Memory (n.) of having once seen a proof is itself knowledge, not mere belief: Newton knows his propositions true without holding the whole admirable chain in view, as surely as a man knows another was wounded because he saw him run through.