“… when you are taken unawares by an outbreak of a fire or the news
of a death, there is in the first mute shock a feeling of guilt, the
indistinct reproach: did you really not know of this? Did not the dead
person’s name, the last time you uttered it, sound differently in your
moth? Do you not see in the flames a sign from yesterday evening, in a
language you only now understand? And if an object dear to you has
been lost, was there not, hours, days before, an aura of mockery or
mourning about it that gave the secret away? Like ultraviolet rays
memory shows to each man in the book of life a script that invisibly
and prophetically glosses the text.”

Walter Benjamin, “Madame Ariane–Second Courtyard on the Left”, One-Way Street