All autobiography is self-indulgent.
A dreamer, I walked enchanted, and nothing held me back.
There is no going back in life. There is no return. No second chance.
Come and see us if you feel like it,' she said. 'I always expect people to ask themselves. Life is too short to send out invitations.
All whispers and echoes from a past that is gone teem into the sleeper's brain, and he is with them, and part of them.
If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.