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Robertson Davies

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It is lost, lovely child, somewhere in the ragbag that I laughingly refer to as my memory.
--
A Conversation about Dr. Canon's Cure (1982)

 
Robertson Davies

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The true beloveds of this world are in their lover's eyes lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.

 
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That is just the way with Memory; nothing that she brings to us is complete. She is a willful child; all her toys are broken. I remember tumbling into a huge dust-hole when a very small boy, but I have not the faintest recollection of ever getting out again; and if memory were all we had to trust to, I should be compelled to believe I was there still.

 
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And this, my lovely child, is your garden.

 
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