Sentimental Reflection Quotes

We had our thing. It is a really good memory but now we're older. Things change.

I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love.

I don't mourn the loss of my childhood; I mourn because everything, including (my) childhood, is lost.

I remember when we kissed. I still feel it on my lips. The time you danced with me with no music playing. I remember the simple things. I remember till I cry. But the one thing I wish I'd forget, the memory I wanna forget is goodbye.

I think we look back at times past with fondness because we were younger. Life had not yet begun pecking away at our innocence like buzzards on fresh road kill.

Wow. When he started looking back on the war with Kronos as the good old days--that was sad.

Why does the past look so enticing to us? For the same reason why from a distance a meadow with flowers looks like a flower bed.

The past is the sepulchre of our dead emotions.

And now I have to stop. Because every time I remember this, I have to cry a little by myself. I don't know why something that made me so happy then feels so sad now. Maybe that is the way it is with the best memories.

Life is bittersweet. Inside our heads, if we're lucky, we're the same kids as we were when we were young.

Perhaps that's how I should think of them, Polly thought, the troupe and Miss Snelgrove and Trot. And Sir Godfrey. Not as lost to her, but as removed to this moment in time for safekeeping.

Then he thought himself unhappy, but happiness was all in the future; now he felt that the best happiness was already in the past.

Memories have to be our most painful blessing.

If it seems like I've been lost in 'lets remember', If it seems I'm gettin' older and missin' my younger days, well you shoulda known me much better, cause the past is something that never got in my way.

Some memories remain close; you can shut your eyes and find yourself back in them. But there are second-person memories, too, distant you memories, and these are trickier: you watch yourself in disbelief.

But that was the best time of my life, and only now that it has gone from me forever -- only now do I realize it.

I should allow only my heart to have imagination; and for the rest rely on memory, that long drawn sunset of one's personal truth.

The act of writing is for me often nothing more than the secret or conscious desire to carve words on a tombstone: to the memory of a town forever vanished, to the memory of a childhood in exile, to the memory of all those I loved and who, before I could tell them I loved them, went away.

...when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.

I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my youth, where are they?"--and an echo answered, "Where are they?

Tonight, I feel like my whole body is made out of memories. I'm a mix-tape, a cassette that's been rewound so many times you can hear the fingerprints smudged on the tape.

In one creative thought a thousand forgotten nights of love revive, filling it with sublimity and exaltation.

There are times in the lives of most of us, when we would have given all the world to be as we were but yesterday, though that yesterday had passed over us unappreciated and unenjoyed.

Its an eerie thing. My childhood is being washed away.