Past (n.) I think I recapture is never the real past but my past as I see it now, perhaps after altering it.
Past (n.) is not the end of an event's being: in time, being and passing are synonymous, so by becoming past an event does not cease to be.
Past (n.) stays ours for good: once you have seen Van Gogh, all your later seeing is that of someone who knows Van Gogh, as a bourgeois turned workman stays a bourgeois-turned-workman.
Past (n.) is present as a horizon: we can reopen it in an act of recollection, or leave it at the fringe, where it gives what we see its atmosphere.
Past (n.) is not fate, but it has weight: an inferiority complex lived in for twenty years is no longer a series of events over there but the atmosphere of my present.
Past (n.) protests against our reinterpretations: my early happiness cannot be put down to a sheltered home — the world itself was more beautiful then, and I can never be sure I understand those years better than they understood themselves.