Quotes About Nostalgia

Sometimes, when the past catches up, you just can't stop yourself.

To Yukiko, however, drawn as she was to the past, there was something very unsatisfactory about this brother in law, and she was sure that from his grave her father too was reproaching Tatsuo.

Cobbles are enormously evocative, like the scent of forgotten objects and remembered melodies.

I guess you're right. I can look at photo albums and get a reasonable idea of what I was like when I was three years old, or when I was a newborn.

Jedes Buch ist ein Ort an den man wieder und wieder zurück kehren kann.

Wahrscheinlich werde ich jede Nacht von dir träumen, sagte er. Und wenn ich aufwache, weiß ich, dass der beste Teil des Tages schon vorbei ist. Das hast du irgendwo gelesen. Hab ich nicht.

Sometimes at night I think that my husband is with me again, coming gently through the mists, and we are tranquil together. Then the morning comes, the wavering grey turns to gold, there is stirring within me as the sleepers awake, and he softly departs.

Still, we often talked on the farm of the Safaris that we had been on. Camping places fix themselves in your mind as if you had spent long periods of your life in them. You will remember a curve of your wagon track in the grass of the plain, like the features of a friend.

Every day stole away more of her presence, leaving in its place faint wisps of memories devoid of color, scent, and sound.

When it's a memory, you already know the outcome, so we believe it was an easier time.

Old Woman Nora of Loch Lomond To her three wee Grandaughters one cold night.

An oft-told story is like a photograph in a family album; eventually, it replaces the moment it was meant to capture.

They never reminisced about the time they had to drive halfway back to Indianapolis because I'd left Dexter Poindexter, my terry-cloth penguin (threadbare, ravaged by love—as who amongst us is not)

There are moments when history and memory seem like a mist, as if what really happened matters less than what should have happened. The mist lifts and suddenly there we are, my good parents and their good children, their grateful children who phone for no reason but to talk, say their good-nights with a kiss, and look forward to home on the holidays. I see how, in a family like mine, love doesn't have to be earned and it can't be lost.

I wasn't happy, exactly, but I was remembering how happiness felt.

One Mother's Day, he gave Mom a music box that played the theme from Swan Lake. She cried for days over it.

Memories of her, however, would remain with him. Everywhere he'd look, she would be there, as if she were a hundred women, all shadow and wraith, marking each place at Tyemorn and Ayleshire. He'd see her on the village road, smiling beneath an oak, straddling a furrow and laughing at something a companion had said. There again, tilting her head in an inquisitive look and offering advice on the line of the barn wall, or at night, when he could only see the outline of her form.

In the brief silence, an antique clock ticked with a sound like stones falling off a ledge.

Yeah?" "I miss the way you taste." She tried to sound bored. "It's still Colgate." "That's not the taste I was talking about.

They only remembered the good times

It was odd how you could love something so much, but forget about it when it wasn't right under your nose.

membership consisted solely of sitting around and grousing about how much things had changed for the worse. All they could talk about was the good old days—how much better things had been before the coloreds ruined everything. What they didn't acknowledge was that the things that made it bad for them made it better for everyone else.

That was how it was with abusive parents. They only remembered the good times and you only remembered the bad.

More time passed, the clock ticking forward when she longed for it to go back