Agnes Varda Quotes

The past is no farther away than your pillow.

Music evokes so many feelings in us, memories, nostalgia, things that are connected to our past.

Do we always grind through the present, doomed to throw a gold haze of fond retrospect over the past?

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?

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

Sometimes thinking back on things is a mistake arising out of pride, but I guess you live inside a moment for years, move with it and feel it grow, and it sends out roots until it touches everything in sight.

I love people, but I love the thought and memory of them just as much.

Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.

Every time I open the drawer, it's a trip down Memory Lane, which, if you don't turn off at the right exit, merges straight into the Masochistic Nostalgia Highway.

My memories are inside me - they're not things or a place - I can take them anywhere.

I just wrote about childhood as I had known it.

There's no sustenance in the past.

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

Are there not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? — why, we cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections — an idea which carries you back to other times, to other places — which, very likely, have no connection with the present time and place.

When I saw my box after that, it was even more special for me.

Sitting on the floor, I'd replay the past in my head. Funny, that's all I did, day after day after day for half a year, and I never tired of it. What I'd been through seemed so vast, with so many facets. Vast, but real, very real, which was why the experience persisted in towering before me, like a monument lit up at night. And the thing was, it was a monument to me.

…she remembered watching a summer sunset from this very spot. Not so long ago; just a lifetime.

Memory is the best of all gardens. Therein, winter and summer, the seeds of their past lie dormant, ready to spring into instant bloom at any moment the mind wishes to bring them to life.

I want to visit Memory Lane, I don't want to live there.

I remember when I used to be really into nostalgia.

Rather than dwelling on the past, we should make the most of today, of the here and now, doing all we can to provide pleasant memories for the future…If you are still in the process of raising children be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled, will disappear all too soon, and that you will, to your surprise, miss them, profoundly.

There are memories for both of us, of course, but I've learned that memories can have a physical, almost living presence, and in this, Savannah and I are different as well.If hers are stars in the nighttime sky, mine are the haunted empty spaces in beetween.

Nostalgia could be considered a disease because you're living now.

some things are better off back in the past. Where they belong.

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