“One day, thirty years ago, I too was obliged to toss into the fire all the words and photographs dating to the man I loved. I watched tangible traces of my fate disappearing in the flames; even though I was crying as I made that sacrifice, it did not even touch me inside. I still had my memories, and always would; I told myself that no one, ever, could burn my memories.”
—The Dreamer Of Ostend, Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt
