Quotes About Nostalgia

I had a vague memory of being that ridiculous at one time. Let he who hath never worn parachute pants cast the first stone.

There are moments in your life that, when you look back at them, you realize were perfect.

Polka will never die!" Butters screamed. "I can't believe I'm hearing this," Thomas muttered.

After the way I left, I suddenly find myself wanting very much to go home. But . . . it won't be the same when I get back. Will it?" "It will be the same," Grimm said. "You're the one who has changed.

Harry," Thomas said, "be real. Everyone wants someone to make us pancakes; we're all just too grown-up to say it.

The Black Hole?" Grey asked, incredulously. "Nobody quotes The Black Hole, Dresden. Nobody even remembers that one." "Hogwash. Ernest Borgnine, Anthony Perkins, and Roddy McDowall all in the same movie? Immortality.

Just like old times," I wheezed. "Yeah, just like old times, Elaine. You backbiting, poisonous, treacherous . . ." And then a thought hit me. Just like old times. ". . . deceitful, wicked, clever girl. If this works I'll buy you a pony.

Whatever the reason, I'm happy to remember the time we had.

another pang of half-remembered days long gone made my chest ache for a second.

Naturally, both sides of the family seemed utterly normal to me at the time but a great deal less so in retrospect.

That was the one moment he would always remember. The unhappiest moment of a happy childhood. The empty desolation of being on the wrong side of that sheet of ice, in the cold sterile water, while the fire burnt at the farm and the smell of Christmas food seeped out of the kitchen. And above him always the criss-crossed pattern of his own skates.

Sugartown Sugartown Sugartown Sugartown.

It surprised me to want her [my mother] the most, but I'd never been miserable without her.

What I never expected is how much nothing there is afterwords. In life,, he was not nearby. Now he is everywhere I dream and every place I wake. Or if not him exactly, then a nothing so much like him I cannot seem to wish it goodnight.

There may be a time when we'll attend Weather Theatres to recall the sensation of rain.

When you leave New York you ain't going anywhere.

Life was just a tire swing. 'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing. Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken, And I never knew a thing about pain. Life was just a tire swing.

The program Hitler outlined rejected everything: it was anticapitalistic and antiproletarian, revolutionary and restorational; it conjured up its dire visions of the future along with nostalgic pictures of the good old days.

You have your wonderful memories, people said later, as if memories were solace. Memories are not. Memories are by definition of times past, things gone. Memories are the Westlake uniforms in the closet, the faded and cracked photographs, the invitations to the weddings of the people who are no longer married, the mass cards from the funerals of the people whose faces you no longer remember. Memories are what you no longer want to remember.

In theory momentos serve to bring back the moment. In fact they serve only to make clear how inadequately I appreciated the moment when it was here. How inadequately I appreciated the moment when it was here is something else I could never afford to see.

As it happened, I didn't grow up to be the kind of woman who is the heroine in a Western, and although the men I have known have had many virtues and have taken me to live in many places I have come to love, they have never been John Wayne, and they have never taken me to the bend in the river where the cottonwoods grow. Deep in that part of my heart where artificial rain forever falls, that is still the line I want to hear.

In fact I no longer value this kind of memento. I no longer want reminders of what was, what got broken, what got lost, what got wasted. There was a period, a long period, dating from my childhood until quite recently, when I thought I did. A period during which I believed that I could keep people fully present, keep them with me, by preserving their mementos, their things, their totems.

The future always looks good in the golden land, because no one remembers the past.

from On Keeping a Notebook]: It is a good idea to keep in touch, and I suppose that keeping in touch is what notebooks are all about…I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not…Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.