And it sort of jogged a memory of something that I read at school and I read it, and I thought God this is it. So you never can tell. I could find something this afternoon.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
There's something about the shape that a poem takes in my mind before I write it that has to do with suddenness.
When I was younger I could remember anything, whether it happened or not.
Was it only by dreaming or writing that I could find out what I thought?
When I write about a 15-year old, I jump, I return to the days when I was that age. It's like a time machine. I can remember everything. I can feel the wind. I can smell the air. Very actually. Very vividly.
I started reading the Bible. All of a sudden the words jumped off the page and became real.
How strange are the tricks of memory, which, often hazy as a dream about the most important events of a man's life, religiously preserve the merest trifles.
I remember when I was a kid in school and teachers would explain things to me about what I read, and I'd think, Where did they get that? I didn't read that in there. Later you look at it and think, That's kind of an interesting idea.
I remember as a kid having a balloon and accidentally letting the string go and watching it just float off and into the sky until it disappeared. And there's something about that, even, that feels very much like what life is, you know, that it's fleeting, and it's temporal.
Memory works according to meaning, and when something is important to you, the Google in your brain brings it forward all of a sudden.
Someone recommended that I read the Bible, and it was then I discovered that I knew nothing about it.