Quotes About Reflection

Listening to it now is like a personally guided tour through my past.

The times you lived through, the people you shared those times with—nothing brings it all to life like an old mix tape. It does a better job of storing up memories than actual brain tissue can do. Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they add up to the story of a life.

Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I'm a mix tape, a cassette that's been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.

I try to stay in touch with my friends who are far away, and I do a bad job of that, but I carry them with me.

I'm much better at bringing out the best in others than in myself. That's just the kind of person I am. I'm the scratchy stuff on the side of the matchbox.

Some records turned out better than others: Off the Ground quite rotten, Flaming Pie and New and Chaos and Creation in the Backyard quite excellent. One of my favorites is Run Devil Run, from 1999, the year after Linda died

The things we used to do together were alien now. Lonesome star, shine on.

I was looking for glimmers of light, but I only wanted to go looking for them in the hills where the dead spirits hung out.

I've been stuck in my little isolation chamber for so long I'm spinning through the same sounds I've been hearing in my head all my life. If I go on this way, I'll get old too fast, without remembering any more sounds than I already know now.

But how do you start getting out of your room? I was reading a poem by my idol, Wallace Stevens, in which he said, "The self is a cloister of remembered sounds." My first response was, Yesss! How did he know that? It's like he's reading my mind.

If she breaks my heart, no matter what hell she puts me through, I can say it was worth it, just because of right now.

Sometimes I could feel the glaciers shifting inside me, and I hoped they were melting, but they were just making themselves comfortable.

It's always that one song that gets to you. You can hide, but the song comes to find you.

Nothing connects to the moment like music. I count the music to bring me back, or more precisely, to bring her forward.

Huh. Veronica Mars, speechless. I'll have to write this one in my feelings journal.

As I took Allison to the airport for her flight into San Francisco and the rest of her life, I thought about how lucky her father and I were to have had her in our lives. My time with her was over, though I was sure we would stay in touch. I kept thinking I should be sad, but I felt content more than anything. Now, I'm not saying I won't want to call her every day, and she'll probably die without me, but why ruin something so perfect trying to stay together?

Memories - you can't escape them, but you can't let them rule you either.

Snap judgments? I'd gotten over those about the time I was toilet trained. Swore off diapers and faith in the human experience all in one week.

Fall leaves are brilliant with gold and red. You can cup them in your hand and wonder at them, be amazed at their uniqueness and glory. But eventually they are gone, brown, crumbling, scattered on the wind. But the tree remains. The tree is what is important. The tree lives on. That was a difficult knowledge to bear, and an even more difficult life to live. Of course, being the leaf wasn't exactly desirable either.

You always remember the words that come back to bite you in the ass, no matter how much you'd like to forget them.

If I had a bad day, which, now that I ran my own life, was a helluva lot less than the old days, I sat on the floor with Houdini, placed a hand on his broad head, and soaked up endless doggy wonder. A full stomach, a well-chewed toy, a soft couch—through a dog's eyes, that was a true glory that couldn't be matched, the only heaven in existence. I missed the furball, missed him like crazy.

That was harsh. I didn't think my personality was species dooming. Not necessarily.

I abandoned the crate and curled up on the floor. There was no risking a hotel now, not on the last night. There would be no electric blanket, no champagne, no room service. What a world. It was the same world that would end tomorrow night.

I offer you a fable for our times... A magic box sits in your pocket with all the knowledge and music and entertainment of the world contained within it. If you opened this box and looked down into it... ...How could you ever possibly look up again? - Larry Ferrell (Unfollow)