In the days when I kept a diary, I would write things down as they happened. Pages and pages of my school exercise books are missing from where I jotted something down and then ripped it out to write up later. Most of these snippets have been thrown away, but I've spent the last hour tidying up my desk and unearthed some that got away. Some of them are no more than a sentence or two, but they are pure. Umblemished by fancy language or imagery or the little ornaments that I was tempted to insert when I wrote them up. They made me smile.
And then, after I finished my desk I started clearing up the odds and ends that have accumalted around my bedroom. One was a big baubel (hung on my wall for gosh-knows how many years.) As I took it down, it broke - only, it didn't, because it would appear it was meant to come apart. Inside I found another snippet, from a moment and an event I had forgotten.
ps, Diary writing is interesting. The truth and the not-quite truth, and the embellished truth, and why you would decide to present yourself/an event in a certain light when nobody else is going to read the entry but you. I might write a post about it some time.