“In the Land of Memory the time is always Now.In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick... but their hands never move.There is an Unfound Door(O lost)and memory is the key which opens it.”

“The clock always ticks. There are times you don't hear it, and there are times that you do.”

“. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces. Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth. Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?O waste of lost, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this weary, unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”

“Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.”

“I was looking for the key for yearsBut the door was always open”

“She was the clock, a clock that had lost its key, unwinding in the dark.”