Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us.
In memory everything seems to happen to music.
A lot of people mistake a short memory for a clear conscience.
History fades into fable, fact becomes clouded with doubt and controversy, the inscription molders from the tablet, the statue falls from the pedestal. Columns, arches, pyramids — what are they but heaps of sand, and their epitaphs but characters written in the dust?
If all else fails, immortality can always be assured by spectacular error.