Quotes About Nostalgia

But there is nothing so tedious as sitting by when two old shipmates are calling out, "Do you remember the three days' blow in the Mona Passage? – Do you remember Wilkins and his timenoguy? – What has happened to old Blodge?

I expect we are all jealous of the women in their past, but how much less exciting if the women had not kept the bed warm.

But the face I would always remember best was the one that never made the pictures. The one behind the camera.

At least you can say you were in on the last days of Morocco, he told her. How's your tea? Finished? I think we ought to be going.

Las cosas ocurren solo un determinado número de veces, en realidad, muy pocas. ¿Cuántas veces más recordarás cierta tarde de tu infancia, una tarde que forma una parte tan entrañable de tu ser que ni siquiera puedes imaginar la vida sin ella? Quizá cuatro o cinco veces más. Quizás ni eso. ¿Cuántas veces más verás salir la luna llena? Quizás veinte. Y sin embargo todo parece ilimitado.

Poetry is a sort of homecoming.

Judith hated nostalgia. It was just the waiting room for death.

The subterranean homesick clown

it is the peculiar power of flowers that while they are universal and spread their species over the world, they invoke in each beholder the dearest and most cherished memories.

This is a book. It is a book I found in a box. I found the box in the attic. The box was in the attic, under the eaves. The attic was hot and still. The air was stale with dust. The dust was from old pictures and books. The dust in the air was made up of the book I found. I breathed the book before I saw it; tasted the book before I read it.

Which brings us back to the nostalgia thing. There are, let's face it, some people in our political life who pine for the days when minorities and women knew their place, gays stayed firmly in the closet, and congressmen asked, "Are you now or have you ever been?

T-shirt with the saying "I May Be Old, but I Got to See All the Cool Bands.

Short, narrow streets run far and wide / as if they were homesick.

Whenever I'm leaving I get sentimental for that nostalgia I know I won't have the next day.

Then it comes to him—how you can't return to a place you've never been to, can't recapture what you never had. The chances you miss stay missed forever.

I walk home, thinking of another place, of seemingly long endless summers and the shade of different kinds of trees; and then of winters when the branches of the trees were bare, so bare that, recalling them now, it seems inconceivable to me that I looked at them and did not think of the summer just gone, and the spring soon to come, as illusions; as dreams, never fulfilled, never to be fulfilled.' Philoctetes.

Time it was And what a time it was, it was A time of innocence A time of confidences Long ago it must be I have a photograph Preserve your memories They're all that's left you

You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend

You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as you have lost a friend.

You know you've read a good book when you turn the last page and feel a little as if you have lost a friend." ?

Home is always the impossible subject, multilayered and maddening.

Ever since childhood, when I lived within earshot of the Boston and Maine, I have seldom heard a train go by and not wished I was on it. Those whistles sing bewitchment: railways are irresistible bazaars... Anything is possible on a train...

A slow feeling of gathering sadness as each familiar place flashes by the window and disappears and becomes part of the past. Time is made visible, and it moves as the landscape moves.

One of the grandest creations of the New South was a mythical concept of an Old South." What people take to be an epoch was a matter of mere decades of pretension and an exercise in irrational nostalgia.