Thou unrelenting Past! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, And fetters, sure and fast, Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Loveliest of lovely things are they, On earth, that soonest pass away. The rose that lives its little hour Is prized beyond the sculptured flower.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.

And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

It is not what they built. It is what they knocked down. It is not the houses. It is the spaces between the houses. It is not the streets that exist. It is the…

Seems like yesterday; seems like forever-all at the same time. It's sort of, how do you measure it? Do you measure the fact that I'm 20 years older? No. I thin…

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