@George,
Quote:When an early autumn walks the land
And chills the breeze
And touches with her hand the summer trees
Perhaps you'll understand
What memories I own
"Early Autumn"
Lyrics by Johnny Mercer
By heck George you are one sentimental old cove. Most people would demonstrate what memories they own unconsciously and would never dream of discussing them as a psychological concept.
One senses that wistfulness welling up stemming, I think, from a combination of melancholy nostalgia at lost youth and innocence and at the contemplation of one's poetic excellences. It's essentially narcissistic and the old Greek myth says to shun that.
Proust gives you the memories he had so brilliantly that it's easy to imagine they are one's own. Perhaps Mr Mercer was in his own early autumn.
It's on one side in the great literary battle between the Romantics and the Realists who will probably wait until the teaching of evolution in schools has become taken for granted to show what they are really made of.
It was the Realist school which insisted that the Can-Can girls go knickerless on the grounds that the knickers were a cop out. And they got their way, France being a hot-bed of philosophical discussion at the time and the knickers being seen as religious interference in full and free expression.
But, alas some might sigh, it was only a 1st quarter field goal and the cops mopped it up after one night. I've often wondered whether Mr Coppola had the tale in mind when he created that marvellous scene with the touring party entertaining the troops where one of the dancers wafts, or fans, her short skirt at the front row. No wonder he went over budget.
I think that a more gradual approach is now being taken. A micro-millimetre at a time.
Have you thought of writing verses for Valentine cards?