One's real life is so often the life that one does not lead.
~Oscar Wilde
So this is what's left behind, these things that end up as our real inheritance--the flotsam and jetsam of life, the stuff that drifts into our hands and into history, the chance impression, the little shadow each of us casts, the fragile thing someone carefully catalogs and cares for and then forgets or maybe doesn't, the image of an image that conjures a memory that is either real or imagined--these are here, plucked and pressed between the pages, so they will stay fresh forever, or slip away.
~Susan Orlean ~My Kind of Place
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