Quotes About Nostalgia

the zeppelin. It sounded

and it would all go back to the way it used to be. At the same time, he knew it wouldn't, but he had to hold on to something in the dark nights, and imagination was all he had.

My God, he thought, the man I once was! The life that surrounded me! The force that was mine! No otherness to be felt anywhere! Once upon a time I was a full human being.

How much time could you spend staring out the ocean, even if it was the ocean you'd loved since you were a boy?

Memories particularly of when they weren't being what parents are nine-tenths of the time, the taskmasters, the examples, the moral authorities, the nags of pick-that-up and you're-going-to-be-late, keepers of the diary of her duties and routines, memories, rather, of when they found one another afresh, beyond the tensions between parental mastery and inept childish uncertainty, of those moments of respite in a family's life when they could reach one another in calm

Well, good Christ, how was I supposed to know all that, Hannah? Who looks into the fine points when he's hungry? I'm eight years old and chocolate pudding happens to get me hot. All I have to do is see that deep chocolatey surface gleaming out at me from the refrigerator, and my life isn't my own.

hoe weemoedig hij soms ook mocht kijken naar zulke echtparen in de vallende schemering of op zondagmiddagen, de week had nog meer uren en hun leven was niets voor hem, als hij zijn melancholie weer de baas was

Yes, if only this and if only that, we'd all be together and alive forever and everything would work out fine.

Nessuno dei pezzi di musica seria che aveva ascoltato per tutta la vita adulta gli dava la stessa emozione che ora provava ascoltando il vecchio swing: -Quel po' di stoicismo che ho dentro se ne va, e il desiderio di non morire, di non morire mai, si fa quasi insopportabile.

Never before—the great refrain of 1942.

In the days of the Romance Run, each time you went back to the same whorehouses and you brought nylons to your favorite girls.

It is said a man doesn't get old while his mother lives. I think it's true. You are always a child in her eyes. It is irritating in the extreme. But you know, when they have gone, you'd give the earth just to hear them treating you like a child once more.

Con te sono ancora il ragazzo di campagna che si è presentato sotto la Grande Quercia con la donna più bella di tutte le terre drenai.» «Non sono mai stata bella» ribatté Rowena «ma mi fa piacere sentirtelo affermare.» «Lo eri... e lo sei» garantì Druss.

Believe me—I spent some uncomfortable moments with my head that morning. Because I'd read The Rolling Stones fifteen years before—and forgotten it completely. Or had I?

When Mom was a boy, she looked a lot different. I saw some old pictures once of my dad, and he had his arm around a boy who looked a little like Mom, but his hair was longer. Mom doesn't say much about life on Earth, so I guess it wasn't a very happy home for her. Like most everybody else, she and Dad left because they thought they could have a better life somewhere else.

Somebody took my hand in his. It felt like Dad's hand. Large and warm and safely enveloping. I knew it had to be Douglas holding my hand, but it was nice to pretend it was Dad for a while.

We gather the things we learned, and they don't nearly add up to fill the space of a life. You will miss the taste of Froot Loops. You will miss the sound of traffic. You will miss your back against his. You will miss him stealing the sheets. Do not ignore these things.

Yesterday is another world. I want to go back there.

Caroline's about to say something really harsh, but suddenly Hunter and Dev launch into a fucking Green Day cover, and we're all seven years old again and dancing like we spit out the Ritalin while Mom wasn't looking.

Sometimes memory tricks you. Sometimes beauty is best when it's distant.

A photograph it a souvenir of a memory. It is not a moment. It is the looking at the photograph that becomes the moment. Your own moment.

This is what a memorial is: standing still, staring at something that isn't ther

And I'm moved, it's so beautiful. Not what I wrote, but to have it given back like this. To have her remember the words and the tune. To hear it in her voice.

Let me hold on to this the way it was, before I knew anything else.