No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away.
Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses ... deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth—reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light. — Guildenstern (Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead by Tom Stoppard)
