Lupe Fiasco Quotes

Just sitting back trying to recapture a little of the glory of... Well, the time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but boring stories of Glory days - yeah, they'll pass you by, Glory days - in the wink of a young girl's eye.

Then I turned to him commanding That he go the way he came, whence he came. But he answered me in sorrow, "May the Past not seek to borrow From the Present without blame - Just one memory from its store, Ere it goes to come no more, Back the pathway that it came, whence it came?"

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast

We have lived too long. The great days are past.

Time slips away and leaves you with nothing, mister, but boring stories of glory days.

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.

How did it get so late so soon? Its night before its afternoon. December is here before its June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

We can't get our youth back.

I spent my whole childhood wishing I were older and now I'm spending my adulthood wishing I were younger.

When I'm 60, maybe, I'll look at my pile of papers and wonder, What really happened that year?

I was born in 1949 - which seems like a long time ago... Actually, it is a long time ago, when I think about it.

Either 'Deuce Coupe' has aged badly, or I have. I suspect it's the latter.

When you begin to think about the past, you realize how much of it is lost to us.

I am growing old, and my future, so to speak, is already behind me.

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

The past is like a handful of dust. It filters through your fingers, disappearing little by little. I wish, for one day, I could go back. In another life I would do things differently.

We're captive on the carousel of time, we can't return we can only look behind.

Where was he, her Alexander, of once? Was he truly gone? The Alexander of the Summer Garden, of their first Lazarevo days, of the hat in his hands, white toothed, peaceful, laughing, languid, stunning Alexander, had he been left far behind? Well, Tatiana supposed that was only right. For Alexander believed his Tatiana of once was gone, too. The swimming child Tatiana of the Luga, of the Neva, of the River Kama. Perhaps on the surface they were still in their twenties, but their hearts were old.

But years hath done this wrong, To make me write too much, and live too long.

The best part of my life is gone, and what remains is whizzing past so quickly I feel like I'm Krazy-Glue'ed onto a mechanical bull of a time machine.

Life is short. Time is short. As we get older, time does quicken. It's long, and it's long pertaining to that thought, that the past is not done with you because you can't rid of it.

The older one becomes the quicker the present fades into sepia and the past looms up in glorious technicolour

Day by day and night by night we were together - all else has long been forgotten by me.