Time Out Of Mind

I was never one to begrudge people their memories. From a child I would listen when they spoke of
the past. Mother often remarked upon it as strange in one so young. But I think I must have guessed,
even then, at what is now clear to me, though I have not skill enough with words to make it plain.
For I know that nothing can be so sweet as remembered joy, and nothing so bitter as despair that no
longer has the power to hurt us. And to me the past seems like nothing so much as one of those
shells that used to be on every mantelpiece of seafaring families years ago along the coast of Maine.