a shudder ran through me

 

no sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and i stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. an exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. and at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. ... whence did it come? what did it mean? how could i seize and apprehend it? ... and suddenly the memory revealed itself. the taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on sunday mornings at combray (because on those mornings i did not go out before mass), when i went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. the sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. and all from my cup of tea.

that my memory is broken, i do not wonder

i have examined maps of the city with the greatest care, yet have never again found rue d'auseil. these maps have not been modern maps alone, for i know that names change. i have, on the contrary, delved deeply into all the antiquities of the place; and have personally explored every region, of whatever name, which could possibly answer to the street i knew as the rue d'auseil. but despite all i have done it remains an humiliating fact that i cannot find the house, the street, or even the locality, where, during the last months of my impoverished life as a student of metaphysics at the university, i heard the music of erich zann.
that my memory is broken, i do not wonder; for my health, physical and mental, was gravely disturbed throughtout the period of residence in the rue d'auseil..............

from the music of erich zann, december 1921 by h.p. lovecraft.

this quote had such a profound effect on me, i made a video based on it.
i have started reading lovecraft again (at the mountains of madness). lovecraft writes so well about memory, horror, perception, and melancholia.

h.p. lovecraft (at right) with poet and farmer arthur goodenough

also of note: at the mountains of madness is futher experienced through these posts: polar expeditions, veils of light, you cracked like the ice.... because it takes place in antarctica.