ABSTRACT
The power of memory is prodigious, my God. It is a vast, immeasurable sanctuary. Who can plumb its depths? And yet it is a faculty of my soul. Although it is a part of my nature, I cannot understand all that I am. That means, then, that the mind is too narrow to contain itself entirely. But where is the part of it which it does not itself contain? Is it somewhere outside and not within it? How then, can it be part of it, when it is not contained in it? I am lost in wonder when I consider this problem. It bewilders me. Yet men go out and gaze in astonishment at high mountains, the huge waves of the sea, the broad reaches of rivers, the oceans that encircle the world or the stars in their courses. But they pay no attention to themselves.
