The town was paper, but the memories were not.

And the moral of the story is that you don’t remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.

Words are not static.Language shape our memories, and it is also shaped by our memories.

The marks humans leave are too often scars. You build a hideous minimall or start a coup or try to become a rockstar and you think, "They'll remember me now," but (a) they don't remember you, and (b) all you leave behind are more scars. Your coup becomes a dictatorship. Your minimall becomes a lesion.

I never saw my grandfather because he had died before I was born, but I have good memories of my grandmother and of how she could play the piano at the old house.

The past beats inside me like a second heart.