For we are not now
searching out the regions of heaven, or measuring the distances of the
stars, or enquiring the balancings of the earth. It is I myself who
remember, I the mind. It is not so wonderful, if what I myself am not,
be far from me. But what is nearer to me than myself? And to, the
force of mine own memory is not understood by me; though I cannot so
much as name myself without it. For what shall I say, when it is clear
to me that I remember forgetfulness? Shall I say that that is not in
my memory, which I remember? or shall I say that forgetfulness is
for this purpose in my memory, that I might not forget? Both were most
absurd. What third way is there? How can I say that the image of
forgetfulness is retained by my memory, not forgetfulness itself, when
I remember it? How could I say this either, seeing that when the image
of any thing is impressed on the memory, the thing itself must needs
be first present, whence that image may be impressed? For thus do I
remember Carthage, thus all places where I have been, thus men's faces
whom I have seen, and things reported by the other senses; thus the
health or sickness of the body.
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