You can't judge the present by the past. Each day is different, and you live it differently.
Living in the past is a place that has no future.
A great mystery lies in the repetition and continuity of the renewal of that which is past. Culture perpetuates itself in memory and the big job is the reawakening of memory.
The past and present are after all so close, almost one, as if time were an artificial teasing out of a material which longs to join, to interpenetrate, and to become heavy and very small like some of...
She used to wander through the past as often as it beckoned her, bemoaning the loss of nostalgia. Then, for a while, she turned from it, blissfully free of its noxious clutch, and now it's back, taunt...
When the past comes knocking, don't answer. It has nothing new to tell you.
It takes just one day to remember one day! Mind today, for one day, you shall remember one day
It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.
They, who continue to stay turned to watch their past mistakes, will miss the potential successes of the future.
It's only awkward if it matters.
The past lives through us. We are its legacy.
A long time ago someone told me that a story will tell itself, when it's ready.
Back in 'my day'—though I didn't claim ownership of it at the time, still less do I now . . .
Everything you've done, everything you've seen, everything you've become, remains. You never can go back, only forward, and if you don't bring the whole of yourself with you, you'll never see the sun...
I am not where I need to be, but thank God I am not where I used to be.
I thought—at some level of my being, I actually thought—that I could go back to the beginning and change things. That I could make the blood flow backwards. I had the vanity to imagine—even if I didn'...
If a memory wasn't a thing but a memory of a memory of a memory, mirrors set in parallel, then what the brain told you now about what it claimed had happened then would be coloured by what had happene...
It turns out that sharing the past with someone is different from reliving it when you're alone. It feels less like a wound and more like a poultice.
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