looking-back

To reach your target quicker, don__ lose your time by looking back!

Reading all my old love letters was disorienting. You remember thinking the thoughts and writing the words but, man, you can't TOUCH those feelings. Its like they belonged to someone else. Someone you don't even know. I'm aware, in an intellectual way. That I felt all those things about him, but this emotions are far away now.What's so strange to me is that I can't even force my heart back to that place where I felt that all consuming passion. That makes me feel distant from myself. Who WAS I then? Will I ever be able to get back to that place? Reading the letters again made me wonder: Which is the real me? The one who saw the world in that emotionally saturated way, or the me who sees it the way I do now?

The trouble with __f only_ is that it doesn__ change anything. It keeps the person facing the wrong way _ backward instead of forward. It wastes time. In the end, if you let it become a habit, it can become a real roadblock _ an excuse for not trying anymore.

Mattie was a grown woman in love, and they had to let her go, with their blessing, enduring what could not be helped. And there was no use in thinking of that fluid, glistening instant that always seems, in looking back, to have come between what might have happened and what happened, when one might have made some little choice that would have changed forever the course of things.

They say to never look back.But sometimes I do. It__ gratifying to see how far I__e come.

when you get to the peak, remember the valley exists

Looking back, I have come to realize that the gang lifestyle back then__he fame, the respect, and the recognition__as stronger and powerful than any drug. We were serious with what we were dealing with. It was like a do or die situation. Shelton __pples_ Burrows reform gang leader

But you are still you I'm still meAnd we are still we

It's funny. Looking back, none of it seems to matter now, those moments of yearning, craving to belong with people I thought mattered. No more fragments of glass, pieces of a broken mirror you can't put back together and wouldn't want to even if you could.

Whether beautiful or terrible, the past is always a ruin.

Some memories were all right, but others were dangerous.

Stories about lives remembered bring us backward while allowing us to move forward.

All those practice fights when it was just us, two children pretending to be soldiers. Or two soldiers pretending to be children.

I assumed that looking back reminded older guys of what they had shot at and missed, the what-ifs, the good memories, the bad, the people left behind, the people who moved on.

Wise is the one who flavors the future with some salt from the past. Becoming dust is no threat to the phoenix born from the ash.

If I had done this, if I had said that, in the end you are always more tormented by what you didn't do than what you did, actions already performed can always be rationalized in time, the neglected deed might have changed the world.