Aristotle described memory as the scribe of the soul. I’d be more inclined to describe it as a historian that dreams of being a poet and thus takes creative liberties at every turn, suppressing the mundane details in favour of art. Jorge Luis Borges said, “I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does.”
As another year seems to charge to a close I find myself relating more and more to what Tennessee Williams said, “Life is all memory except for the one present moment that goes by so quick you can hardly catch it going.” The year seems to have swept past like a gust of summer wind that is gone as quickly as it came and yet leaves a lingering warmth. Reflecting on it is a strange and beautiful journey, as Vladimir Nabokov said: “I think it is all a matter of love: the more you love a memory, the stronger and stranger it is.”
have a wonderful weekend! I certainly plan to xxx
Life is all memory except for the one present moment that goes by so quick you can hardly catch it going.