The true measure of
life is remembrance. Retrospectively, it traverses life with the speed of
lighting. As quick as one turn back a few pages, it has gone back from the next
village to the point where the rider decided to set off. He whose life has turn
into writing, like old people, likes to read this writing only backward. Only
so does he meet himself, and only so in flight from the present can his life be
understood.
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