If we have retained an element of dream in our memories,

if we have gone beyond merely assembling exact recollections,

bit by bit the house that was lost in the mists of

time will appear from out the shadow. We do nothing to

reorganize it; with intimacy it recovers its entity, in the

mellowness and imprecision of the inner life. It is as though

something fluid had collected our memories and we ourselves were

dissolved in this fluid of the past.

(Bachelard – The Poetics of Space)