It feels like a paraphrase of Faust's desire to have the moment last forever.  In a way, it is just that.  In a way moments are all we have and all we need to have.
Witness Proust's seven volumes which end where they started, in the perception of a moment.  
Witness also a sound made forty-plus years ago by the soprano in Act 3 of La Traviata, a moment I will never forget.
Do we know when such moments occur that we will never forget them?  That they will become fundamental to our notion of who we are?


Comments are closed.