ABSTRACT
The past is never dead. In fact, it isn’t even past. (Faulkner, ‘Requiem for a Nun’: Act 1 Scene III)
There was a child went forth every day And the first object he looked upon, that object he became And that object became part of him for a day or a certain part of the day . . . His own parents, he that had father’d him and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb and birth’d him, They gave this child more of themselves than that, They . . . became part of him . . . The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture, the yearning and swelling heart, Affection that will not be gainsay’d, the sense of what is real The thought if after all it should prove unreal.
