Recurring Patterns Quotes

It is not worthwhile to try to keep history from repeating itself, for man’s character will always make the preventing of the repetitions impossible.

That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons of history.

The past is the present and the future too.

Whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times. This arises from the fact that they are produced by men who ever have been, and ever shall be, animated by the same passions, and thus they necessarily have the same results.

I think history is just so cyclical.

The past is never dead. It’s not even past.

The future influences the present just as much as the past.

Life and values do run in cycles.

Does history repeat itself, the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce? No, that's too grand, too considered a process. History just burps, and we taste again that raw-onion sandwich it swallowed centuries ago.

Remember that history always repeats itself. Every great bubble in history has broken. There are no exceptions.

All things from eternity are of like forms and come round in circle.

Society goes on and on and on. It is the same with ideas.

History repeats itself. That's one of the things wrong with history.

The whole history of life is a record of cycles.

History repeats itself. So you might wanna pay attention.

What's been tried once had been tried once before... and before... and before...

History repeats itself. Historians repeat each other.

I've seen how this thing goes, the waves, the ins and outs of the season.

I've got news for Mr. Santayana: we're doomed to repeat the past no matter what. That's what it is to be alive.

Even if we remember the past, odds are good we'll still repeat it.

The more you read about history, the more you realize that there is nothing new under the sun.

In all things there is a law of cycles.

But there is something about Time. The sun rises and sets. The stars swing slowly across the sky and fade. Clouds fill with rain and snow, empty themselves, and fill again. The moon is born, and dies, and is reborn. Around millions of clocks swing hour hands, and minute hands, and second hands. Around goes the continual circle of the notes of the scale. Around goes the circle of night and day, the circle of weeks forever revolving, and of months, and of years.

The theme of my autobiography could only be repetition.