Quotes About Nostalgia

I was in '78 recently, he announced. I brought you this. He handed me a single by the Beatles. I didn't recognize the title. Didn't they split in '70? Not always. How are things?

I collect ex-boyfriends -- and more than five, at last count.

I think Wordsworth was as surprised to see me as I was him. It can't be usual to go to your favorite memory only to find someone already there, admiring the view ahead of you.

Don't you own a dodo?

a curious sense of uncomfortable familiarity, the feeling you might get when a long-forgotten school bully hails you as an old friend.

Y el pasado volvió, inevitablemente.

Memories lurk like dustballs in the backs of drawers. The stereo is a special model that plays only music fraught with poignant associations.

When we were growing up, Cooper Island was our whole world." "And then we went out into a much bigger world, so the island and everything on it now seem smaller in comparison.

Speed is simply the rite that initiates us into emptiness: a nostalgic desire for forms to revert to immobility, concealed beneath the very intensification of their mobility. Akin to the nostalgia for living forms that haunts geometry.

These old Australians or Californians who spend all their days staring at the ocean without leaving their limousines, which they have turned into their panoramic childhood sites and their coffins, and who dream there, while awaiting the last wave, the one that will come from the depths of the ocean to engulf them.

Thought can no longer keep itself in a critical equilibrium. It has to be spread eagled between violent nostalgia and violent anticipation. Of course we should dream of all women. There isn't one of them who wouldn't be offended if a man didn't dream of all of them through her.

When the real no longer is what it used to be, nostalgia assumes its full meaning.

To be moved confuses the soul. One cannot convey these kinds of memories any more than the events of a dream... ...if I have complained too long, it is because my memory, no longer having any fixed abode, has to carry its luggage with it.

Like the raindrops falling outside, one by one they fill the gaps until the memories pool together and flood through me.

But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.

Quite like old times,' the room says.

If this is a sad story, don't tell it to me tonight.''It is not sad,' she said. 'Only some things happen and are there for always even though you forget why or when.

I must remember about chandeliers and dancing, about swans and roses and snow.

No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us...a difficult moment when you are out of practice - a moment that makes you go cold, cold and wary.

I can remember every second of that morning, if I shut my eyes I can see the deep blue colour of the sky and the mango leaves, the pink and red hibiscus, the yellow handkerchief she wore around her head, tied in the Martinique fashion with the sharp points in front, but now I see everything still, fixed for ever like the colours in a stained-glass window. Only the clouds move. It was wrapped in a leaf, what she had given me, and I felt it cool and smooth against my skin.

She found pleasure in memories, as an old woman might have done.

There is no control over memory.

Ton départ était moins cruel que ton retour.

The novels, travel books and poems I read had a particular smell. The smell of cellars. An almost spicy smell, a mixture of dust and grease. Verdigris. Books today don't have a smell. They don't even smell of print.