Demetri Martin Quotes

I don't have a great nostalgia for the past.

It becomes increasingly easy, as you get older, to drown in nostalgia.

When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood.

I'm a nostalgic guy.

Whenever I think of the past, it brings back so many memories.

I want my music to make you reminiscent or nostalgic of your childhood, or take you back to a better place.

Nostalgia is not a place to live.

I love the nostalgic myself. I hope we never lose some of the things of the past.

Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.

[Memory] is a passion no less powerful or pervasive than love. It is [the ability] to live in more than one world, to prevent the past from fading, and to call upon the future to illuminate it.

And as we live our lives we discover - drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each - what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them.

Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

I'm growing old, I delight in the past.

I am not nostalgic for the past.

The dearest days in one's life are those that seem very far and very near at once.

When I'm driving past the place I used to work, or when I'm driving past the comedy studio where I used to take photos in exchange for classes, or when I'm driving past the yoga studio I used to clean on the weekends - it's not that far removed from me yet. I get very sentimental over things like that.

I love nostalgia.

I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more

Every man is obsessed by the memories of his own youth.

Because who can describe that look that triggers the memory of loved ones? Who can anticipate the frown, the smile, or the misplaced lock of hair that sends a swift, undeniable signal from the past? Who can ever estimate the power of association, which is always strongest in moments of love and in memories of death?

Doesn't one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren't they one's past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under the trees ... one's happiness, one's reality?

I used to dream about turning back time, about reclaiming the things I'd lost and the person I used to be.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago.

The great times were never as great as they seem in the rearview mirror.

Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?