In The Beds Which The

I Can No Longer Think What I Want To Think. My Thoughts Have Been Replaced By Moving Images.

We Do Not Know The True Value Of Our Moments Until They Have Undergone The Test Of Memory.

We Do Not Know The True Value Of Our Moments Until They Have Undergone The Test Of Memory. Like The Images The Photographer Plunges Into A Golden Bath, Our Sentiments Take On Color; And Only Then, After That Recoil And That Trans-figuration, Do We Understand Their Real Meaning And Enjoy Them In All Their Tranquil Splendor.

Do Not Trust Your Memory; It Is A Net Full Of Holes; The Most Beautiful Prizes Slip Through It.

Suffering Has Roused Them From The Sleep Of Gentle Life, And Every Day Fills Them With A Terrible Intoxication. They Are Now Something More Than Themselves; Those We Loved Were Merely Happy Shadows.