Recollection (n.) is the same movement as repetition, except in opposite directions, for what is recollected has been, is repeated backward, whereas genuine repetition is recollected forward.
Recollection (n.) must be not only exact but happy: sealed like wine, it must conserve the bouquet of the experience.
Recollection (n.) is ideality: it seeks to make a man's earthly existence uno tenore, one breath, capable of being expressed in one word — and that is the condition for immortality.
Recollection (n.) is drawing a check upon eternity — and eternity is humane enough to honor every draft.
Recollection (n.) cannot be thrown away: it comes back like Thor's hammer, like a dove that, however often sold, always flies home.
Recollection (n.) is a secret brooding in complete solitude — like the bird that will not brood its egg once a stranger has touched it.
Recollection (n.) as an art is not bringing back the past by enchantment but removing by enchantment the object nearest you — for the sake of recollecting it.
Recollection (n.) admits no fellowship: the wine press of recollection every man must tread alone, so every recollection is a secret.
Recollection (n.) makes its possessor richer than the owner of the whole world — he too, like the woman with child, is in an interesting situation.
Recollection (n.) gains by losing the watery particles of memory, as a generous wine gains by passing over the equator.
Recollection (n.) is an eagle's-nest castle: the aesthete swoops down into reality for prey, bears it aloft, and baptizes it in forgetfulness unto eternal remembrance.
Recollection (n.) comes soon enough on its own; until then, one ought to keep life's fresh spring open as long as possible.
Recollection (n.) sets a sharp over the note of the present instant — the further back it reaches and the oftener it repeats, the more sharps.
Recollection (n.) is the nature of first philosophy, pagan and immanent; repetition is the nature of second philosophy, which is transcendence.
Recollection (n.) is the Greek way of putting the eternal behind us, as a past that can only be entered backwards — like a man walking a road without positing the step, so that the road appears only behind him.