Quotes About Nostalgia

Life is so simple when you're young, though of course that's not what it feels like to the young.

Yesterday. Was there a more merciless word?

For a moment Dustfinger felt as if he had never been away- as if he had simply had a bad dream, and the memory of it had left a stale taste on his tongue,a shadow on his heart,nothing more.

Was she happy? Yes. And no. Because now the words were back, and with them the name that had spun gold around her heart for so long she hardly remembered how things had felt before him.

Das Buch wird anfangen, deine Erinnerungen zu sammeln. Du wirst es spaeter nur aufschlagen muessen und schon wirst du wieder dort sein, wo du zuerst darin gelesen hast. An nichts haften Erinnerungen so gut wie an bedruckten Seiten.

Quando ti porti dietro un libro» le aveva rivelato Mo quando Meggie ci aveva messo dentro il primo «avviene qualcosa di straordinario: le sue pagine raccoglieranno i tuoi ricordi. E un giorno ti basterà risfogliarle per tornare con il pensiero al luogo dove le hai lette per la prima volta: le immagini, gli odori, il gelato che ti eri gustata... Credimi, i libri sono un po' come la carta moschicida: a nient'altro i ricordi restano attaccati come alla carta stampata.»

It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards." Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Whenever he felt the sharp pangs of homesickness he had come back here to his old enemies, where he didn't feel quite so out of place.

I libri la rincuoravano quando era triste e scacciavano la noia mentre Mo tagliava, rilegava, incollava pagine ormai logore, rese fragili da anni e anni d'uso sotto le innumerevoli dita che le avevano sfogliate.

He closed the window, and the scents of the past again flooded the room, like a bunch of wilted flowers.

If you take a book with you on a journey," Mo had said when he put the first one in her box, "an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while you were reading it …

Voleva tornare nel suo sogno. Forse era ancora lì, da qualche parte dietro le palpebre abbassate. Forse alle ciglia era rimasta attaccata un po' di felicità, come la polvere d'oro delle fatine della buonanotte.

A nada se pegan tan bien los recuerdos como a las páginas impresas.

Vielleicht hat die Sehnsucht nach dieser Welt auch sehr viel mit seiner Mutter zu tun.

Quando ti porti dietro un libro avviene qualcosa di straordinario: le sue pagine raccoglieranno i tuoi ricordi. E un giorno ti basterà risfogliarle per tornare col pensiero al luogo dove le hai lette per la prima volta.

For one short moment he had a crazy urge to lie down on one of the mattresses, to light a few of the many candles around the place, and to forget everything that had happened since his ninth birthday.

If you take a book with you on a journey, an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like, the ice cream you ate while reading it... yes, books are like flypaper—memories cling to the printed pages better than anything else.

The most painful aspect of exile was how home became a dream, cleansed of all that was bad. One never returned to the dream one had nurtured over centuries, but to a reality that would always look shabby compared to the romanticized memories.

It's a world full of terror and beauty (...) and I could always understand why Dustfinger felt homesick for it.

If you take a book with you on a journey…an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you only have to open that book to be back where you first read it.

If you take a book with you on a journey," Mo had said when he put the first one in her box, "an odd thing happens: The book begins collecting your memories. And forever after you have only to open that book to be back where you first read it. It will all come into your mind with the very first words: the sights you saw in that place, what it smelled like

Memories. They were all she had left. No more tangible than the pictures conjured up by books. But what would be left if she lost those memories too?

Come se ogni volta, fra le pagine, rimanesse attaccato qualcosa: sensazioni, pensieri, rumori, odori... E quando a distanza di anni li riapri, ritrovi te stesso, un po' più giovane, un po' diverso, quasi il libro ti avesse conservato come un fiore fatto seccare tra le pagine... un po' estraneo e un po' familiare.»

Faber sniffed the book. "Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy." Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451