Each of us is present, but partially.

I try to attach myself to things around me so that they don't slip away.

I think those of us who use language are always trying for this, trying to keep everything from floating away by trying to write about it despite failure.

You can get a sense of the wonderful power of framing by holding your fingers up in a kind of square, walking around the room and framing it differently - how that changes the nature of what you think the room is like.

Shakespeare, of course, makes us ever aware of transience, not only in the sonnets, but also powerfully in his plays - spectacles for a brief period of time and then gone, as when Prospero describes the pageant fading, leaving "not a rack behind."

I'm really interested in what you remember, how you remember, what your perspective is as opposed to somebody else's.

I can't remember the past, or I can't see very clearly, or I've gotten older and the person I was isn't there anymore, and the place I grew up isn't where I live now.