From the last paragraph of THE MEMORY PALACE: If memory is a palace, let me live there, forever with her, somewhere in that place between sleep and morning. Place and palace, one letter separates the two. Morning. Do you ever say the word morning and mind-wander to other words? Maybe more or mourning instead, maybe more mourning? If memory is a palace, Bartok says.
I fan the pages and search for sentences I’ve marked. On page 29 I find, our brains are built not to fix memories in stone but rather to transform them. Our recollections change in their retelling. And then, [memory is] a subterranean world that changes each time we drag something up from below.
For those of us working on memoirs…
View original post 709 more words