Quotes About Past

Grief seemed to constitute a kind of connective membrane, not a divide, and the 'fragile film of the present' felt strengthened, not threatened, by the past. Tears, it struck her—even ones that spilled out of your mouth or off a table—formed a fretwork the wingless could learn to walk over, if there had been enough of them and you tried.

Three generations of women out on the front porch, four counting little Emily, trying to put words around a past and a future that could never be explained.

Hence life, as through a cloud, for me I see Vanish, and to the past's dark shade 'tis chas'd; As a grand image love remains to me-- Sole remnant of a dream, by morn effac'd.

The miracle of it is this: how little things from such a long time ago can still be remembered as if they had occurred only yesterday.

How much, if at all, do we let go of grief, even as we proclaim the need to leave it in the past?

Like ginseng roots, our buried pasts have different shapes.

When Arthur Ashe plays tennis, his purpose each day is to play the game in a way he has never played it before. It may be a backhand he uses, one that he may never have used before in that circumstance. His play is a fresh integration of his world at the instant of action. A really great scientist has the whole past at his disposal. At any instant he is rebuilding the world, molecule by molecule, in his subconscious. That is what you want in an athlete or a scientist.

The role of science is to be systematic, to be accurate, to be orderly, but it certainly is not to imply that the aggregated, successful hypotheses of the past have the kind of truth that goes into a number system.

You could give me the past," he said a little sadly. "But Alec is my future.

You can't forget the things you did in the past, or you'll never learn from them.

Clary glanced past him and asked, "Where's Magnus?" "He said it would be better if he didn't come. Apparently he and the Seelie Queen have some kind of history." Isabelle raised her eyebrows. "Not that kind of history," said Alec irritably. "Some kind of feud. Though," he added, half under his breath, "the way he got around before me, I woudn't be surprised.

There were some memories, though, that never faded.

The warlock's gaze, on the flames, was remote and distant, as if he were looking back into the past. Simon couldn't help but remember what Magnus had said to him once, about living forever: Someday you and I will be the only two left.

We are all what our pasts have made us," Catarina said. "The accumulation of thousands of daily choices. We can change ourselves, but never erase what we've been.

Alec raised his blue eyes."Whos Will?" Magnus exhled a sort laugh."Will.Dear God.That was a long time ago.Will was a Shadowhunter,like you.And yes,he did look like you,but your nothing like him.Jace is much more the way Will was,in personality at least-and my relationship with you is nothing like the one I had with Will.Is that whats bothering you?" "I dont like thinking your only with me because I look like so dead guy you liked.

We are all our past have made us. The accumulation of thousands of daily choices. We can change ourselves, but never erase what we've been. Forgetting those choices doesn't unmake them.

Alec, who was watching this back-and-forth as if sitting center court in a tennis match, raised a hand. "I'm sorry, but did you two used to date?" That stopped the conversation dead in its tracks. Both Tessa and Magnus turned to him with identical looks of shock. "You seem more horrified than I do," Magnus told Tessa, "and somehow I am deeply wounded.

Now that the real and the imagined had collided, he wondered if she, like he, longed for the past, for the normal. He wondered if normalcy was something, like vision or silence, you didn't realize was precious until you lost it.

Surely, she was too young to have so many ghosts.

One of the things he loved about Clary was how easily caught up in her imagination she was, how easily she could wall herself away in illusory worlds of curses and princes and destiny and magic. Once he had been able to do the same... Now that the real and the imagined had collided, he wondered if she, like he, longed for the past, for the normal. He wondered if normalcy was something, like a vision or silence, you didn't realize it was precious until you lost it.

It was a reminder that the past is a moving target, filtered through perspectives and values that change over time. Heroes and martyrs stand on shaky pedestals, even when, as in the case of Marcus Whitman, the pedestal is a seven-ton block of granite.

Glorifying the pioneers was a way to justify what had been done in the past and perhaps ease anxieties about the future—the solidity of stone and metal suggesting that the sons and daughters of the pioneers would continue to prevail.

The hysteric, whose body is transformed into a theatre for forgotten scenes, relives the past, bearing witness to a lost childhood that survived in suffering.

I'm all in favor of recycling everything we can, but it's strange to see your past walking around with a new identity.