I have mentioned already, by the way, that though he lost his mother in his fourth year he remembered her all his life-her face, her caresses, "as though she stood living before me." Such memories may persist, as every one knows, from an even earlier age, even from two years old, but scarcely standing out through a whole lifetime like spots of light out of darkness, like a corner torn out of a huge picture, which has all faded and disappeared except that fragment.
( Fyodor Dostoyevsky )
[ The Brothers Karamazov ]
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