“She was obsessed, isolated, locked within herself, in feverish pursuit. She knew that something disastrous was happening to her, that possibly she was going mad, and she knew also that if she ceased for one moment to think about Steven, to carry him with her in her head, she might lose him. He was dead; he only existed in recollection; when recollection ceased even that tenuous existence would be gone. A name, no more. Like the host of names on the white tombstones of Bunhill Fields burial ground; the silent army beneath the soil.” DeathMemoriesLossGriefMemoryMourningRemembranceBereavementRecollections Book:Perfect Happiness Source: Perfect Happiness
“She wondered why happiness should be so acutely remembered when sorrow vanishes, like pain. Those brilliant tethered moments are seldom black. I was often miserable--but some kindly (or perverse) mechanism of the memory fades out all that, leaving quite other things, and hence an untruthful whole. We quarrelled, but all I have now of those quarrels is a pungent taste, not words nor phrases but a flavour: his silent back, my churning resentment.” RelationshipsMemoriesLossGriefSorrowMourningQuarrelsBereavementMarriages Book:Perfect Happiness Source: Perfect Happiness
“Perhaps he is one of those people who are able to go through life step by step, for whom what happens, happens, and that is that. For whom today is uncontaminated by yesterday.” LifeMemoriesEventsLetting GoRuminationRuminating Book:Perfect Happiness Source: Perfect Happiness
“The day is refracted, and the next and the one after that, all of them broken up into a hundred juggled segments, each brilliant and self-contained so that the hours are no longer linear but assorted like bright sweets in a jar.” TimeMemories Book:Moon Tiger Source: Moon Tiger