Life is like dreams: a part of their contour appears again and again, a part - quite rarely, and a part - at night only, but most of them change with time, and even more fade out with recurring changes. People feel that this is also a kind of order, the order with nothing but beauty, with a perfection they adore and behold. This is the power of memory. Memory holds a mighty force, A treasure trove of life’s discourse. A power that can move the soul, A force that makes the spirit whole.