Each in the most hidden sack keptthe lost jewels of memoryintense love secret nights and permanent kissesthe fragment of public or private happiness.A few the wolves collected thighsother men loved the dawn scratchingmountain ranges or ice floes locomotives numbers.For me happiness was to share singingpraising cursing crying with a thousand eyes.I ask forgiveness for my bad waysmy life had no use on earth.

You see the first thing we love is a scene. For love at first sight requires the very sign of its suddenness and of all things it is the scene which seems to be seen best for the first time a curtain parts and what had not yet ever been seen is devoured by the eyes the scene consecrates the object I am going to love. The context is the constellation of elements harmoniously arranged that encompass the experience of the amorous subject...Love at first sight is always spoken in the past tense. The scene is perfectly adapted to this temporal phenomenon distinct abrupt framed it is already a memory the nature of a photograph is not to represent but to memorialize... this scene has all the magnificence of an accident I cannot get over having had this good fortune to meet what matches my desire.The gesture of the amorous embrace seems to fulfill for a time the subjects dream of total union with the loved being The longing for consummation with the other... In this moment everything is suspended time law prohibition nothing is exhausted nothing is wanted all desires are abolished for they seem definitively fulfilled... A moment of affirmation for a certain time though a finite one a deranged interval something has been successful I have been fulfilled all my desires abolished by the plenitude of their satisfaction.

If you didnt remember something happening was it because it never had happened Or because you wished it hadnt

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined for life--to strengthen each other in all labor to rest on each other in all sorrow to minister to each other in all pain to be one with each other in silent unspeakable memories at the moment of the last parting

And Ill dance with you in ViennaIll be wearing a rivers disguise.The hyacinth wild on my shouldermy mouth on the dew of your thighs.And Ill bury my soul in a scrapbookwith the photographs there and the moss.And Ill yield to the flood of your beautymy cheap violin and my cross.

I loved you so much once. I did. More than anything in the whole wide world. Imagine that. What a laugh that is now. Can you believe it We were so intimate once upon a time I cant believe it now. The memory of being that intimate with somebody. We were so intimate I could puke. I cant imagine ever being that intimate with somebody else. I havent been.

We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory there is no true loss.

I think it is all a matter of love the more you love a memory the stronger and stranger it becomes

You spoke to her in hidden dreams...and smiled at her through open doors. She felt your secret love surround her at times. And while alone she felt your breath heartbeat and more... Serenity of hers is never-ending soothing....it leads lures calls you... Ah timeless burning flame.. Her kiss is ocean salty water you drink and thirst increases...you long and pray for more...

How oddly situated a man is apt to find himself at age thirty-eight His youth belongs to the distant past. Yet the period of memory beginning with the end of youth and extending to the present has left him not a single vivid impression. And therefore he persists in feeling that nothing more than a fragile barrier separates him from his youth. He is forever hearing with the utmost clarity the sounds of this neighboring domain but there is no way to penetrate the barrier.Honda felt that his youth had ended with the death of Kiyoaki Matsugae. At that moment something real within him something that had burned with a vibrant brilliance suddenly ceased to be.Now late at night when Honda grew weary of his legal drafts he would pick up the dream journal that Kiyoaki had left him and turn over its pages....Since then eighteen years had passed. The border between dream and memory had grown indistinct in Hondas mind. Because the words contained in this journal his only souvenir of his friend had been traced there by Kiyoakis own hand it had profound significance for Honda. These dreams left like a handful of gold dust in a winnowing pan were charged with wonder.As time went by the dreams and the reality took on equal worth among Hondas diverse memories. What had actually occurred was in the process of merging with what could have occurred. As reality rapidly gave way to dreams the past seemed very much like the future.When he was young there had been only one reality and the future had seemed to stretch before him swelling with immense possibilities. But as he grew older reality seemed to take many forms and it was the past that seemed refracted into innumerable possibilities. Since each of these was linked with its own reality the line distinguishing dream and reality became all the more obscure. His memories were in constant flux and had taken on the aspect of a dream.