I had seven minutes permanently burned out of my memory (when the van hit). I did get one back of the guy coming over the hill heading toward me. It's like a coral islet in the sea. ... I have no idea if (the story) is any good, but what the h--l, I like it.

In the Land of Memory the time is always Now.
In the Kingdom of Ago, the clocks tick... but their hands never move.
There is an Unfound Door
(O lost)
and memory is the key which opens it.

She knew with suddeness and ease that this moment would be with her always, within hand's reach of memory.

She doubted if they all sensed it - they had seen the world - but even George was silent for a minute as they looked, and the scene, the smell, even the sound of the band playing a faintly recognisable movie theme, was locked forever in her, and she was at peace.

I wouldn't have missed a single minute of it, Not for the whole world.

Time's the thief of memory

Writers remember everything...especially the hurts. Strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he'll tell you the story of each small one. From the big ones you get novels. A little talent is a nice thing to have if you want to be a writer, but the only real requirement is the ability to remember the story of every scar.
Art consists of the persistence of memory.