John Petit-Senn Quotes

Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.

As far as I know, no tapes exist from my years at 'T.J.'s.' I wish they did.

People try to keep their past, like kind of holding on to their past. Every Springsteen song talks about that.

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

Nostalgia is not a place to live.

Back to him she would never go, but in her lonely life still lived the sweet memory of that happy time when she believed in him and he was all in all to her.

Still are the thoughts to memory dear.

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

The calendar has a magic that makes us imagine a memory can be resurrected and revived, but nothing returns.

We all have appointments with the past.

The memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment.

Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

Few have wished for memory so much as they have longed for forgetfulness.

In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory.

I recall my fleeting instants in Savannah as the taste of a cup charged to the brim.

Praising what is lost makes the remembrance dear

The food that memory gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it.

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.

What happiness is there in just the memory of happiness?

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

A long past vividly remembered is like a heavy garment that clings to your limbs when you would run.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought.

Time has a funny way of collapsing when you go back to a place you once loved. You find yourself thinking, I was kissed in that building, I climbed up that tree.

It's nine o'clock on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffles in / There's an old man sitting next to me making love to his tonic and gin / He says, 'Son, can you play me a memory?/ I'm not really sure how it goes / But it's sad and it's sweet, and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.'

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