December 23, 1957: "The scent of pine lingered in the corners of the room, masking the more insidious traces of dust from the archives. Little did we understand the gravity of those days..."
April 18, 1969: "The older gentlemen in our circle often spoke of shadows, metaphoric and literal, as if there were secrets concealed just beyond the reach of electric light."
October 1, 1984: "An announcement interrupted the meeting, one of those rare occurrences that write themselves into memory with an indelible script. Outside the windows, leaves fell like slow confetti."
August 12, 1990: "Amongst the rattling shelves of the library, it was easy to forget the passage of time. Voices here change but echoes remain the same - one must only listen..."