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