Ever poised on that cusp between past and future, we tie memories to souvenirs like string to trees along life’s path, marking the trail in case we lose ourselves around a bend of tomorrow’s road.

The memory of the dead is indeed a good remorse. (Le souvenir des morts - Est bien un bon remords)

An odd thing souvenir-hunting: now becomes then even while it is still now.

The remembrance of a woman is longer than a tear. (Le souvenir d'une femme - Est plus long qu'une larme.)