These memories, which are my life — for we possess nothing certainly except the past — were always with me.

I'd learned to feel nostalgia for my own youth while I was living it.

I tend to live in the past because most of my life is there.

It is our old love I love.

The great feelings, I still have it. Lots of memories...It’s good to be back, back where I started. Not where I started running, but where I started to run well.

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

I was assailed by memories of a life that wasn't mine anymore, but one in which I'd found the simplest and most lasting joys.

I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer.

I took a great deal of pleasure in it, and I still feel nostalgic about it. However, I felt that it had led me to live in a parallel world of pure invention, shut inside my solitude. Naturally, it was precisely for that purpose that it was made and that was why I took pleasure in it, but I wanted to regain body and roots.

Remembering the pleasures I enjoyed, I renew them, and I laugh at the pains which I have endured and which I no longer feel.

In youth, before I lost any of my senses, I can remember that I was all alive, and inhabited my body with inexpressible satisfaction; both its weariness and its refreshment were sweet to me.

The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes.

Many things I am experiencing I already remember.

I like revisiting, at certain times, spots where I was once happy; I like to shape the present in the image of the irretrievable past.