Sarah Dessen Quotes

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

Anyone who doesn't miss the past never had a mother.

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.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

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?

By an image we hold on to our lost treasures, but it is the wrenching loss that forms the image, composes, binds the bouquet.

I explore it now in the only place left for it, my memory.

We sometimes feel that we have been really understood, but it was always long ago, by someone now dead.

. . .I really ought to have recognized it for what it was and, perhaps, to have stopped right there - for it was nostalgia, and what inspires nostalgia has been dead a long time

When all is lost, there is still a memory.

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

We all look for lost time.

Just because someone's dead doesn't mean it's over. My grandfather died more than 25 years ago, but I still think of him a lot and smell his smell.

Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

The moon I see now is the same moon I saw before. Except that before, when I looked at it, it was in anticipation of what it would be like when I got there. That's behind me now.

Nostalgia is, 'Hey, remember the other mall that used to be there?'

The best years are behind me.

Nothing prevents happiness like the memory of happiness.

It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.

I'm just fascinated by the past. You know, both by the possibilities it holds and by the complete tyranny of it, the way it sort of keeps you in this stranglehold and makes you want things that you no longer have and you can never get back.

Thank God I have the seeing eye, that is to say, as I lie in bed I can walk step by step on the fells and rough land seeing every stone and flower and patch of bog and cotton pass where my old legs will never take me again.

I am not nostalgic for the past.

This house was our dream-the gardens, the study, even the swimming pool. Even though I can't see John when I wake up in the morning, I can always feel him here with me.

Nostalgia is not a place to live.