...the nostalgia for things that weren't yet lost.

What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over.

Experience, or what we call experience, is not the inventory of our pains, but rather the learned sympathy towards the pain of others.

There is no more disastrous mania, no more dangerous whim, than the speculation over roads not taken.

Where does the past go when it changes?

The world's a scary place these days. Grandpa,, you've seen worse things, haven't you? Please tell me the world has always been like this.

The saddest thing that can happen to a person is to find out their memories are lies.

Remembering tires a person out. this is something they don't teach us. Exercising one's memory is an exhausting activity. It draws our energy and wears down our muscles.

I read somewhere that a man should tell the story of his life at the age of forty, and this deadline is fast approaching as I write these lines, only a few short weeks remain before this ominous birthday arrives.

Adulthood brings with it the pernicious illusion of control, and perhaps even depends on it. I mean that mirage of dominion over our own life that allows us to feel like adults, for we associate maturity with autonomy, the sovereign right to determine what is going to happen to us next. Disillusion comes sooner or later, but it always comes, it doesn’t miss an appointment, it never has.