Scott Hamilton Quotes

[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.

I do enjoy thinking about the past.

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

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

The past does not only draw us back to the past. There are certain memories of the past that have strong steel springs and, when we who live in the present touch them, they are suddenly stretched taut and then they propel us into the future.

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

Nostalgia is not a place to live.

Nothing recalls the past like music.

Time's passage through the memory is like molten glass that can be opaque or crystalize at any given moment at will: a thousand days are melted into one conversation, one glance, one hurt, and one hurt can be shattered and sprinkled over a thousand days. It is silent and elusive, refusing to be damned and dripped out day by day; it swirls through the mind while an entire lifetime can ride like foam on the deceptive, transparent waves and get sprayed onto the conciousness at ragged, unexpected intervals.

In memory, you can access something from the past, anything that you've experienced that you remember - it's there. Now, you might have a memento of it in a photograph or in a film or a building or some clothes that you wore. There might be something that connects you to this memory. But all of us are just all caught in this time, whatever that is.

Yesterday is just a memory.

The past is one evil less and one memory more.

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

This moment will just be another story someday.

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

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.

Photographs open doors into the past, but they also alloq a look into the future

Time has a funny way of collapsing when you go back to a place you once loved. You find yourself thinking, I was kissed in that building, I climbed up that tree.

The Past, being in the mode of memory, is closed, inalienable, and irreparable.

Remembrance of things past.

Back on its golden hinges The gate of Memory swings, And my heart goes into the garden And walks with the olden things.

These memories, which are my life--for we possess nothing certainly except the past--were always with me.

We all have our time machines. Some take us back, they're called memories. Some take us forward, they're called dreams.

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