Until now I had been speaking at great length about how impotent my memory had been since the time of my childhood, but I must point out that a memory which is suddenly revived carries a great power of resuscitation. The past does not only draw us back to the past. There are certain memories of the past that have strong steel springs and, when we who live in the present touch them, they are suddenly stretched taut and then they propel us into the future.
— The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, Yukio Mishima, translated by Ivan Morris
Finished that book yesterday, in a pleasant grove in Darden Towe park while Guion and Caleb played horseshoes. Now on with more reading of sense and memory: Guermantes Way, the third installment (and my third consecutive summer of reading Proust) of In Seach of Lost Time. It has been such a lovely long weekend, and quite nice to have Caleb around.