For it is only in the darkness of solitude that the work of memory begins.

The pen will never be able to move fast enough to write down every word discovered in the space of memory. Some things have been lost forever, other things will perhaps be remembered again, and still other things have been lost and found and lost again. There is no way to be sure of any this.

Memory, therefore, not simply as the resurrection of one’s private past, but an immersion in the past of others, which is to say: history - which one both participates in and is a witness to, is a part of and apart from. Everything, therefore, is present in his mind at once, as if each element were reflecting the light of all the others, and at the same time emitting its own unique and unquenchable radiance.

Memory is the space in which a thing happens for a second time.

الذاكرة هي المكان الذي يمكن أن يحدث فيه ذات الأمر مرتين

Time moved in two directions because every step into the future carried a memory of the past

Reason and memory are nearly always at odds.