Yet did not I by seeing draw them into myself, when with
mine eyes I beheld them; nor are they themselves with me, but their
images only. And I know by what sense of the body each was impressed
upon me.
Yet not these alone does the unmeasurable capacity of my memory
retain. Here also is all, learnt of the liberal sciences and as yet
unforgotten; removed as it were to some inner place, which is yet no
place: nor are they the images thereof, but the things themselves.
For, what is literature, what the art of disputing, how many kinds
of questions there be, whatsoever of these I know, in such manner
exists in my memory, as that I have not taken in the image, and left
out the thing, or that it should have sounded and passed away like a
voice fixed on the ear by that impress, whereby it might be
recalled, as if it sounded, when it no longer sounded; or as a smell
while it passes and evaporates into air affects the sense of smell,
whence it conveys into the memory an image of itself, which
remembering, we renew, or as meat, which verily in the belly hath
now no taste, and yet in the memory still in a manner tasteth; or as
any thing which the body by touch perceiveth, and which when removed
from us, the memory still conceives.
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