My memory is strange that way. I often remember people I've never met and events and places I've never seen.

I don't think I'm some mystical bastard. I just think I pay attention to the details.

White Americans have a short memory.

Most people don't have the patience to absorb their minds in the fine points and minutiae that are intrinsically part of their work. They are in a hurry to create effects and make a splash; they think in large brush strokes.

Their work inevitably reveals their lack of attention to detail - it doesn't connect deeply with the public, and it feels flimsy.

Memories were waiting at the edges of things, beckoning to me.

My memories are inside me - they're not things or a place - I can take them anywhere.

Memories are the treasures that we keep locked deep within the storehouse of our souls, to keep our hearts warm when we are lonely.