The past is frag­ile, as frag­ile as bones grown brit­tle with age, as frag­ile as ghosts seen in win­dows or the dreams that fall apart upon wak­ing and leave noth­ing behind them but a feel­ing of unease or dis­tress or, more rarely, a kind of eerie sat­is­fac­tion.

—Siri Hustvedt, Mem­o­ries of the Future, 13