John Berger Quotes

A lot of times as an actor you watch a film it's like thumbing through a photo book from your past. It's people you haven't seen in a while, there are people that have passed away, and there are people you owe phone calls to.

Ah, tell me not that memory sheds gladness o'er the past, what is recalled by faded flowers, save that they did not last?

The best years are behind me.

Nothing prevents happiness like the memory of happiness.

Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it's pain. Pain concerning the past.

I suppose the things you remember about someone who has died are the funny moments. Those are the ones that stand out.

My daughter teases me once in a while saying, Remember when you used to be my mother and you had black hair?

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

She said I bet you dont remember me And I said only every other memory.

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

So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.

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?

Cassandra wondered at the mind's cruel ability to toss up flecks of the past. Why, as she neared her life's end, her grandmother's head should ring with the voices of people long since gone. Was it always this way? Did those with passage booked on death's silent ship always scan the dock for faces of the long-departed?

You probably wouldn't remember. I probably couldn't forget.

We all of us live upon the past, and through the past we are destroyed.

Every thought should recall the ruin of a smile.

What happiness is there in just the memory of happiness?

In a funny way, I like the past, I'm a very nostalgic person.

In Orphan Train, Christina Baker Kline seamlessly knits together the past and present of two women, one young and one old. Kline reminds us that we never really lose anyone or anything or – perhaps most importantly – ourselves.

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

In the days that follow, he begins to remember things about Moushumi, images that come to him without warning while he is sitting at his desk at work, or during a meeting, or drifting off to sleep, or standing in the mornings under the shower. They are scenes he has carried within him, buried but intact, scenes he has never thought about or had reason to conjure up until now.

Having lost our present and our future, we had of necessity to bend all our endeavors to the past, which no one could take from us if only we were vigilant enough.

The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark

Albums that remind me of my childhood happiness make me incredibly sad now.