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By remembering it too often I have blurred the memory itself.

Picture of C. S. Lewis
C. S. LewisTill We Have Faces

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Slowly, quietly, like snow-flakes—like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night—little flakes of me, my impressions, my selection...

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You are speaking...as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing... what you call remembering is the last part of the ...