memory – Page 3 – countervisuality

The later years seem to have been half effaced from my memory. Many circumstances, I am convinced, have been completely forgotten. I remember, for example, that every year, essentially so like every other, passed sluggishly and drearily. I remember nothing but passionate longing for resurrection, renewal, a new life, gave me the strength to wait and hope. And I did at length grow strong; I waited, counting everyday, and in spite of the fact that a thousand still remained, I ticked them off one by one, followed their funerals, buried them, and when the new day dawned I rejoiced that there were now left not a thousand, but nine hundred and ninety nine.

The later years seem to have been half effaced from my memory. Many circumstances, I am convinced, have been completely forgotten. I remember, for example, that every year, essentially so like every other, passed sluggishly and drearily. I remember nothing but passionate longing for resurrection, renewal, a new life, gave me the strength to wait and hope. And I did at length grow strong; I waited, counting everyday, and in spite of the fact that a thousand still remained, I ticked them off one by one, followed their funerals, buried them, and when the new day dawned I rejoiced that there were now left not a thousand, but nine hundred and ninety nine.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The House of the Dead (via orwell)