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Memory offers up its gifts only when jogged by something in the present.
We experience our expectations of the world.
of a John Clare poem. Even the dearest that I love the best, Are strange - nay, stranger than the rest.
The distance needed for humor is always missing from dreams.
There is music in dialogue, mysterious harmonies and dissonances that vibrate in the body like a tuning fork.
The work of psychoanalysis can turn ghosts into anscestors