Aldous Huxley Quotes

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

The one charm about the past is that it is the past. But women never know when the curtain has fallen.

You can lose your way groping among the shadows of the past. It's frightening how many people and things there are in a man's past that have stopped moving. The living people we've lost in the crypts of time sleep so soundly side by side with the dead that the same darkness envelops them all. As we grow older, we no longer know whom to awaken, the living or the dead.

there was a time when these weren't memories.

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.

If you were falling in love and you could go back in time and relive a day and see the banal things you did that you'd forgotten about, you'd weep, looking at that day.

I remember way back when I was young, 10 years ago.

I can barely remember what I wrote yesterday, let alone 10 years ago.

I do not exactly remember at what period I started my museum which absorbed so much of my time.

They weren't great pictures, but they were fun, and they really represented that period of time well.

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

Stories are for joining the past to the future. Stories are for those late hours in the night when you can't remember how you got from where you were to where you are. Stories ar for eternity, when memory is erased, when there is nothing to remember except the story.

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

The world changes too fast. You take your eyes off something that's always been there, and the next minute it's just a memory.

What is the past, after all, but a vast sheet of darkness in which a few moments, pricked apparently at random, shine?

It is all falling indelibly into the past.

The memory of everything is very soon overwhelmed in time.

I'd trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday.

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.

The past is more than a memory.

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 act of memory is an act of ghostwriting.

Not everything was lost in the flow of time

That was how things were back then. Anything that grew took its time growing, and anything that perished took a long time to be forgotten. But everything that had once existed left its traces, and people lived on memories just as they now live on the ability to forget quickly and emphatically.

It was a long time ago now. And it was yesterday.