Quotes About Nostalgia

Retrouver Paris! savez-vous ce que c'est, ô Parisiens?

If only I could bear all your sorrows for you! . . . Ah! you were so happy when you were little and still with me —

A river town. The autumn rain has stopped. Our wine is gone. So, farewell!

Before my bed, the moon is shining bright, I think that it is frost upon the ground. I raise my head and look at the bright moon. I lower my head and think of home.

on Huang. The 1940s were Silver Dollar's golden years, as all

On the surface, I seem to be glad of new people; But doomed to leave old friends behind me, I cry out from my heart for Shin-Fêng wine To melt away my thousand woes.

But maybe every life looked wonderful if all you saw was the photo albums.

Reading a novel was like returning to a once-beloved holiday destination.

It was good to remember that for every horrible memory from her marriage, there was also a happy one. She wanted to see it clearly, to understand that it wasn't all black, or all white. It was a million colors. And yes, ultimately it hadn't worked out, but that was okay. Just because a marriage ended didn't mean that it hadn't been happy at times. She thought about that

When she looked at photos of her children when they were little, she sometimes thought, Did I notice how beautiful they were? Was I actually there? Did I just skim the surface of my entire damned life?)

I can hardly bear to think of ourselves hugging and crying and making giggly phone calls, like we were in some inane sitcom. We actually discussed names. Names! I want to shout back through the years at myself, "Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you get a baby, you idiots!

It felt like it was all still there, that time of their lives, somewhere metaphysical, accessible through some magical means other than memory.

You're like a favorite pillow. I have to pack you wherever I go.

Parents take far too much notice of their children these days. Bring back the good old days of benign indifference, I reckon.

Back in 1998, the days were so much more spacious. When she woke up in the morning, the day rolled out in front of her like a long hallway for her to meander down, free to linger over the best parts. Days were so stingy now. Mean slivers of time. They flew by like speeding cars. Whoosh! When she was pulling back the blankets to hop into bed each night, it felt as if only seconds ago she'd been throwing them off to get up.

This Thursday night felt like adolescence: exquisitely painful and sharply beautiful.

She closed her eyes and felt everyhting: the warmth of the café, the taste of the muffin, the by now familiar smell of coffee and secondhand books.

Apparently, moving back home was just like joining Facebook, when middle-aged boyfriends came crawling out of the woodwork like cockroaches, suggesting drinks, putting out their nasty feelers for potential affairs.

and the memory had vanished, the way old clothes vanished and you forgot they had ever existed until an old photo reminded you: I loved that T-shirt.

there was something in your children that could bring out the child in yourself.

Sometimes she felt like she was always dragging the memories of these relationships along with her, like three old tin cans on a string.

I'd pay a million dollars to be Alice and Elisabeth's age again for just one day. I'd dance like Olivia's butterfly and bite into crisp green apples and run across hot sand into the surf, and I'd walk, as far as I wanted, wherever I wanted, in big loping, leaping strides, with my head held high and my lungs filling with air. And I'd probably have sex!

But Nick was Nick. He knew what she meant when she said, "Oh my dosh." They could look at an old photo together and travel back in time to the same place; they could begin a million conversations with "Do you remember when . . .";

I wish my memories would blur a bit,' Savannah had said, looking into her glass. 'I remember everything. The details never fade.