David Mitchell Quotes

I know for works for me - those wonderful sad love songs.

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start, When memory plays an old tune on the heart.

Music can tear me up inside.

I get really homesick inside.

All the best songs have an element of sadness.

I feel my heart ache, but I've forgotten what that feeling means.

Alas, why does my mind have to walk through the dust of the past every day?

That old feeling is still in my leaking heart.

I do not know the meaning of my sadness; there is an old fairy tale that I cannot get out of my mind.

only when it rains. and sometimes, too, when i remember.

Alas, the very name of picture produces a sadness of heart I cannot describe.

My mother's last word to me clanks inside me like an iron bell that someone beats at dinnertime: love, love, love, love, love.

Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.

The shadow-past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst. A biography of longing. It steers us like magnetism, a spirit torque. This is how one becomes undone by a smell, a word, a place, the photo of a mountain of shoes. By love that closes its mouth before calling a name.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart

It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.

Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, oh sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me.

It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries; I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.

After everything that happened, how could I miss him? But I did, I did.

Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure; Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure; Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.

Music revives the recollections it would appease.

[T]hese last few days where I've moped around damn near depressed for real, because of people who do not exist. Not really. I can buy them Christmas presents, but there is no way to send them. Sometimes I feel like I should be able to walk into the next room and there they will be, but they won't. These people do not exisit as flesh and blood, but there are different kinds of reality, and there are days when imagination feels very, very real.

Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and runing its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do-the only thing-is run.

Oh, my darling, wish you were here! And my dark soul is happy again, because it does not know how to be anything else for very long, and because the pain is a deep dark sea in which I would drown if I did not sail my little craft steadily over the surface, steadily towards a sun which will never rise.