Quotes About Past

It had been a while since Juliet had shared her bed with anyone. There had been a few, but she thought of them as mistakes rather than lovers

Back out in what passed for daylight, he was greeted by ancient, tall tenements staring blankly at each other from either side of the street, making it feel more like a tunnel, making it feel as if night had fallen. If there had been no people around, you might have mistaken it for a film set of a Dickens novel. You might have mistaken it for the past itself.

She was flawed, no longer intact. On the other hand, she felt as if she had been scourged clean. The past no longer weighed so heavily on the present.

Once upon a time Jackson had erased his past, now his past had erased him.

Was I really such a terrible mother?' she asked Bertie. 'Why the past tense?' Bertie said. Sow and reap.

Perhaps his son was right. Perhaps the past was no longer the context for the present. Perhaps none of it mattered anymore. Was this how the world would end—not with a bang but a So?

Home was an idea, and like Arcadia it was lost in the past. She

It's a symbol representing the circularity of the universe. Time is a construct, in reality everything flows, no past or present, only the now.

They were lucky. They'd been given history.

I heard someone say once that hindsight was a wonderful thing, that without it there would be no history.

What had happened to women? Jackson wondered. They made him feel almost prudish. (Obviously not prudish enough to have resisted the dubious charms of one of them.) More and more these days, he had noticed, he felt like a visitor from another planet. Or the past. Sometimes Jackson thought that the past wasn't just another country, it was a lost continent somewhere at the bottom of an unknown ocean.

Home... wasn't Egerton Gardens, wasn't even Fox Corner. Home was an idea, and like Arcadia it was lost in the past.

Sometimes a house has two histories. One that's less well known. One that people have an interest in keeping less well known.

The past was nothing to her; offered no lesson which she was willing to heed. The future was a mystery which she never attempted to penetrate. The present alone was significant; was hers, to torture her as it was doing then with the biting conviction that she had lost that which she had held, that she had been denied that which her impassioned, newly awakened being demanded.

Casarse con un marqués o con un conde resultaría de lo más romántico, pero, ¿no ha de ser un consuelo para dos personas echar la vista atrás hacia un mismo pasado?

My self and my other selves, both past and yet to come, were equally present.

L'histoire est un roman qui a été, le roman est une histoire qui aurait pu être History is a novel that has been lived, a novel is history that could have been E & J de Goncourt

That which was and is no more is hidden treasure.

I don't know how others reconcile what happened before with what happens now. For me, the past is a cool, dark pond in which I will always stand partially submerged. That's just the way it is.

The past is never where you think you left it: you are not the same person you were yesterday—oh

Disconnecting from change does not recapture the past. It loses the future.

but there is an extra twist of almost painful nostalgia brought about by having lived a life particularly intense in moods. This makes it even harder to leave the past behind, and life, on occasion, becomes a kind of elegy for lost moods. I miss the lost intensities, and I find myself unconsciously reaching out for them, as I still now and again reach back with

There is, for me, a mixture of longings for an earlier age; this is inevitable, perhaps, in any life, but there is an extra twist of almost painful nostalgia brought about by having lived a life particularly intense in moods. This makes it even harder to leave the past behind, and life, on occasion, becomes a kind of elegy for lost moods.

here is, for me, a mixture of longings for an earlier age; this is inevitable, perhaps, in any life, but there is an extra twist of almost painful nostalgia brought about by having lived a life particularly intense in moods. This makes it even harder to leave the past behind, and life, on occasion, becomes a kind of elegy for lost moods.