The mind forgets, but the heart will always remember. And what is the heart’s memory but love itself?

The palest ink will endure beyond the memories of man

Memory is like patches of sunlight in an overcast valley, shifting with the movement of the clouds. Now and then the light will fall on a particular point in time, illuminating it for a moment...

A raintree bent towards a window in one side of the bungalow, eavesdropping on the conversations that had taken place inside over years.

It is getting dark. In the low mists over the hills, an orange glow broods, as if the trees are on fire. Bats are flooding out from the hundreds of caves that perforate these mountainsides....

My eyes wondered from one end of the mountains to the other. ‘Do you think they go on forever?”The mountains?’ Aritomo said, as though he had been asked that question before. ‘They fade away. Like...

Paraphrasing Yeats: It was as the Irish poet had written, a waste of breath, the years that had gone past, the years to come. There was only the present moment to live and die in....

Are all of us the same, I wonder, navigating our lives by interpreting the silences between words spoken, analysing the returning echoes of our memory in order to chart the terrain, in order to make...

To have memories, happy or sorrowful, is a blessing, for it shows we have lived our lives without reservation.