Orestes: There isn't one true version. There isn't. There isn't one story — a line of truth that stretches start to end. That doesn't happen any more, maybe it never happened, but even as I say this now, as I say this now, in each of your minds you create your own versions, different lenses pointing at the same thing at the same time and seeing that thing differently — it depends on too much — the day you've had, what you feel about your mother, the thought you thought before this one — it all floods in, this thing this whole thing is helpless because your brain creates stories in which it is right

[Chorus] It's one of several iterations It gets hard to keep track

Any story is true. Anything that opens is a mouth. A fox means a rainstorm. A cat means a death. A deer means I wasn't looking hard enough.

A story is true. A story is untrue. As time extends, it matters less and less. The stories we want to believe ... those are the ones that survive, despite upheaval and transition and progress. Those are the stories that shape history. And then what does it matter if it was true when it was born? It's found truth in its maturity, which if a virtue in man ought to be no less so for the things men create.

Time passes. Memory fades, memory adjusts, memory conforms to what we think we remember.

In painting, a pentimento (Italian for 'repentance'; from the verb pentirsi, meaning 'to repent'; plural pentimenti) is "the presence or emergence of earlier images, forms, or strokes that have been changed and painted over". Sometimes the English form "pentiment" is used, especially in older sources.

To remember our past is often to revise it.

Every time I remember you, I alter you.

"All memory is a form of fiction. But all fiction is a form of reality."

The Libertine (1968)