Manolo Blahnik Quotes

Moving is easy, exciting, an adventure - when you're young. Later, not so much. I love Massachusetts, my old home. Sometimes, late at night, I even study the real estate ads in my old hometown. But it's not even a fantasy. My parents are both gone. The world I left doesn't exist anymore. Neither does the person I was.

The past is a country from which we have all emigrated

I'm a refugee from the past, and like other refugees I go over the customs and habits of being I've left or been forced to leave behind me, and it all seems just as quaint, from here, and I am just as obsessive about it.

You can't go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.

With a nearly desperate sense of isolation and a growing suspicion that I lived in an alien land, I took to the road in search of places where change did not mean ruin and where time and men and deeds connected.

Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.

Most of the lyrics are over a year old, and it doesn't feel like it's about me. Time created a distance.

You can't really go back to where you came from. I don't think any of us can.

Nostalgia is, 'Hey, remember the other mall that used to be there?'

How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

I sing 'Beirut' for what the city is for me, but I am also singing as an exile.

I'm not even sure that I want to go back... The Zimbabwe that I really loved, the Zimbabwe that I grew up in, just isn't there anymore, and I'm not sure about the country that has replaced it.

An exile reads change the way he reads time, memory, self, love, fear, beauty: in the key of loss.

I only felt a cold wind blow while I tried to hang on to the past.

How those fires burned that are no longer, how the weather worsened, how the shadow of the seagull vanished without a trace. Was it the end of a season, the end of a life? Was it so long ago it seems it might never have been? What is it in us that lives in the past and longs for the future, or lives in the future and longs for the past? (from "No Words Can Describe It")

That is the saddest part when you lose someone you love - that person keeps changing. And later you wonder, Is this the same person I lost? Maybe you lost more maybe less, then thousand different things that come from your memory or imagination - and you do not know which is which, which was true, which is false.

You can't go home again

The past is another planet.

I was happier then. Or was that I? Or am I now I? Can't bring back time. Like holding water in your hand. Would you go back to then? Just beginning then. Would you?

It may be argued that the past is a country from which we have all emigrated, that its loss is part of our common humanity.

I feel some unwillingness to quit the remembrance of the past. With all the hope of the new I feel that we are leaving the old.

I don't think you can ever return, really.

You really can't go home again. Sometimes, that's a good thing. Sometimes, when you try, you find out that home isn't really there anymore... but that it wasn't only in your head before. Home actually existed. Home wasn't just a dream. Sometimes, that's the best thing of all.