Why do I walk round and round, reorganizing my memories until they make sense, unravelling and knitting up the flexible memory lane? Why not just write it all down? Thinking all over the world is no longer enough, the mind cannot hold more than so much; but understanding requires that something that takes in the whole of remembered time and then gives allowance for a pause. Perhaps if I write my story as it appears to me, I shall be able to go back and select. Living is like nothing because it is actually everything - too subtle and copious for assisted or unassisted thought.