Charles Baudelaire Quotes

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.

It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.

All the things that are in the past are in the past.

Our memory is and always will be as good as time travel gets, and in the meantime time will do the travelling for us.

Yesterday is just a memory.

I'm 65 years old. Everyday the future looks a little bit darker. But the past, even the grimy parts of it, well, it just keeps on getting brighter all the time.

I do not exactly remember at what period I started my museum which absorbed so much of my time.

I find myself thinking more about the past as I get older... maybe because there's just more of it to think about. At the same time, I'm less haunted by it than I was as a younger person. I guess that's probably the ideal: to reach a point where you have access to all of your memories, but you don't feel victimized by them.

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

Going home is not necessarily a wonderful experience. It always comes with a sense of loss and makes you so conscious of the inexorable passage of time.

It strikes me that this may be one of the differences between youth and age: when we are young, we invent different futures for ourselves; when we are old, we invent different pasts for others.

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

None would live past years again, Yet all hope pleasure in what yet remain; And, from the dregs of life, think to receive, What the first sprightly running could not give.

My theme is memory, that winged host that soared about me one grey morning of war-time. We possess nothing certainly except the past.

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

Memory is the basis of every journey.

The past is one evil less and one memory more.

Reminiscences make one feel so deliciously aged and sad.

I still preserve those relics of past sufferings and experience, like pillars of witness set up in travelling through the valve of life, to mark particular occurrences. The footsteps are obliterated now; the face of the country may be changed; but the pillar is still there, to remind me how all things were when it was reared.

One of the reasons why old people make so many journeys into the past is to satisfy themselves that it is still there.

The past scampers like an alley cat through the present, leaving the paw prints of memories scattered helter-skelter.

Things you did. Things you never did. Things you dreamed. After a long time they run together.

I'm surprised by how much I remember.

I am interested in the past. Perhaps one of the reasons is we cannot make, cannot change the past. I mean you can hardly unmake the present. But the past after all is merely to say a memory, a dream. You know my own past seems continually changed when I am remembering it, or reading things that are interesting to me.

The past is not a package one can lay away.