February 19
If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way; but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.
Yes... memory, a man's real posession. In nothing else is he rich, and in nothing else is he poor. After a long long while, I decided to pick up my blog again. Then let it be - I yielded to my obsession, yes, on a perfect English spring day that occurs more frequently in memory, than in life.
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