____________________[PRO] on memories, touched too much

"Marcel Proust lived in his memory. He would close his eyes and disappear. This is understandable: His life was a feeble thing. He rarely left his room. He read train schedules to fall asleep, and he slept a lot. He dutifully informed his mother of his bowel movements and thought he was allergic to the sun.

Faced with this claustrophobic reality, wouldn't you live in your memory?

But Proust's sense of memory was no idle exercise in nostalgia. He believed that memory was life..." - The Neuroscience of Proust

 

"The moment you remember the taste is the same moment you forget its true flavor; the present is constantly corrupting the past.

To put it another way, memories are like photographs, vulnerable to the grease of our fingertips. You touch them too much and all you see are the markings of your own hand."