There were not many steps. I had counted them a thousand times, both going up and coming down, but the figure has gone from my mind. Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don’t there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little. That is to say you must think of them for a while, a good while, everyday, several times a day, until they sink forever in the mud.
Samuel Beckett, The Expelled