We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must
retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images.
Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of
home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are
never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps
nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.
Gaston Bachelard
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