"My memory, sir, is like a garbage heap.” A circle draws on a blackboard, a right triangle, a lozenge — all these are forms we can fully and intuitively grasp; Ireneo could do the same with the stormy mane of a pony, with a herd of cattle on a hill, with the changing fire and its innumerable ashes, with the many faces of a dead man throughout a long wake.

— Funes the Memorious from Labyrinths, Jorges Luis Borges