Quotes About Nostalgia

I am an obsessive garage cleaner - my wife and the neighbors make fun of me. I remember that my father was the same way, and now when I'm out there unearthing things in the garage, I realize I am becoming my dad!

We were doing a joke having to do with Toy Story, the last one, Toy Story 3. We were saying it was a tearjerker, and Jon's like, "What made it a tearjerker?" So I was telling him the premise of the story: Andy goes off to college and leaves all of his toys behind. Jon says, "I don't get it, what's so sad?" And I was like, "Oh my God, you're Andy and we're your toys. Holy shit, you insensitive prick!

At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old, the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.

As I've gotten older I've occasionally found myself nostalgic for earlier periods of solitude, though I realize that's also likely a false nostalgia, as I know there was nothing I wanted more during those periods than to not be alone, whatever that means.

The whole experience reminded me of my own 'old lady' phase that I went through in high school while I was reading Somerset Maugham... The embroidered sweaters, the costume jewelry... I remember genuinely WANTING to be old then, to act as if the business of my life was already all but over, and that I was preternaturally wise because of it... God, the stupid things you'll do to try and meet boys...

Unlike prose writing, the strange process of writing with pictures encourages associations and recollections to accumulate literally in front of your eyes; people, places, and events appear out of nowhere. Doors open into rooms remembered from childhood, faces form into dead relatives, and distant loves appear, almost magically, on the page- all deceptively manageable, visceral, the combinations sometimes even revelatory.

I dreamt of Eric, in his Filas, chilling against his sister's car. Then I dreamt of him on the ground, wanting to talk, but with nothing left to say.

A young couple leaving the O'Farrell Theater caught his eye, making him feel a warm, gentle nostalgia for his lover's lane phase.

The happy times of pristine thinking and open minds, always favorable for beginnings, belonged now to the past, and we knew it.

In paese incontrò alcuni studenti in ferie. Ci si salutava, restando insieme per qualche minuto. una traccia di imbarazzo malgrado la reciproca confidenza. La consapevolezza che anche l'altro avvertiva che l'infanzia era definitivamente trascorsa.

Simon aurait détesté revoir Paris à 18 h 07. On a ses heures noires. Simon c'était six heures du soir.

Das hat mich nicht traurig gemacht, damals, aber irgendwie hat es das doch. Ich weiß auch nicht wieso.

Und ich weiß heute noch, wie der Kuss schmeckte, nämlich nach Wein und nach Honig.

My mom put me in a Pampers commercial on TV.

herself she'd be picturing her grandparents making love or worse… She'd be picturing Bing. His mouth on her breasts and his hands

At a really early age I connected with old soul and blues. My grandma used to take me to little record stores around Pittsburgh and buy me old records. I was 6, and I'd sing the songs at block parties. My grandma would get a kick out of hearing me do material that was far beyond my years. I was known around the neighborhood as the little girl with the big voice, and I always liked that contrast.

You used to have to sing and convey emotion, and now, well, technically you can do anything with technology. It sucks for music today, but that's why that old music feels so good to me.

Every person you've ever cared about, and every place you've ever loved, is one of these shells. You're the thread that ties them together," she'd said, touching Mathinna's cheek. "You carry the people and places you cherish with you. Remember that and you will never be lonely, child.

I have come to think that's where Heaven is, a place in the memories of other where our best selves live

Some memories are realities and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again." Maybe so, I think. Maybe my memories of sweeter times are vivid enough, and present enough, to overcome the disappointments that followed. And to sustain me through the rest.

It's a peculiar kind of dissatisfaction, a bittersweet nostalgia for a moment not yet past.

I am ninety-one years old, and almost everyone who was once in my life is now a ghost. Sometimes these

Actually, I did it because when we lived on Indian Island we had this turtle named Shelly.

Wandering among the cardboard boxes, Vivian trails her fingertips across the tops of them, peering at their cryptic labels: The store, 1960–. The Nielsens. Valuables. "I suppose this is why people have children, isn't it?" she muses. "So somebody will care about the stuff they leave behind.