Quotes About Nostalgia

Yeah, well, it's not like the old days." I bit into my lobster roll. Maybe the best lobster roll in Boston, which made it, arguably, the best lobster roll in the world. "It's

En mis primeros recuerdos aparece el fuego.

You ever hear of Little Christmas?" he asked her. "'Course," she said. "January sixth." "Nobody remembers it anymore." "Meant something in my time," she said. "My old man's too." Her voice picked up a tone of distracted pity. "Not yours, though." "Not mine," Bob agreed and felt a trapped

That the thought of what could have been his life sometimes haunted him, hovered around approaching corners, rode the breeze like the echo of a name called from a window.

She pulls her uncle's topaz prayer beads out of her pockets and settles herself by thinking of braised squab: a sauce for wild game with motes of cinnamon and smoke.

Li Pin Chu tells them that if he could eat one dish every day for the rest of his life it would be sliced pork and egg in palm sugar. Han says he would enjoy some chicken stewed in onion yogurt sauce. Sirine thinks she might like some reheated spaghetti and meatballs- a breakfast that her mother used to make from the previous night's dinner.

I heard you went to Ireland...I haven't seen it in many years. Is it still green then, and beautiful? Wet as a bath sponge and mud to the knees but, aye, it was green enough.

It was possible to leave things behind—places, people, memories—at least for a time. But places held tight to the things that had happened in them, and to come again to a place you had once lived was to be brought face-to-face with what you had done there and who you had been.

I have noticed," she said slowly, "that time does not really exist for mothers, with regard to their children. It does not matter greatly how old the child is—in the blink of an eye, the mother can see the child again as it was when it was born, when it learned to walk, as it was at any age—at any time, even when the child is fully grown and a parent itself.

He hadn't worn the kilt since Culloden, but his body had not forgotten the way of it.

Quite without thought, he glanced at his left hand, and saw the ghost of the scar at the base of his thumb, the "C" so faded that it was scarcely visible. He had not noticed it or thought of it in years, and felt suddenly as though there was not air enough to breathe.

We're going home, Sassenach. To Lallybroch.

We look in the mirror and see the shades of other faces looking back through the years; we see the shape of memory, standing solid in an empty doorway.

memory, making

23 RETURN TO LEOCH

But places held tight to the things that had happened in them, and to come again to a place you had once lived was to be brought face-to-face with what you had done there and who you had been.

time does not really exist for mothers, with regard to their children. It does not matter greatly how old the child is—in the blink of an eye, the mother can see the child again as it was when it was born, when it learned to walk, as it was at any age—at any time, even when the child is fully grown and a parent itself.

and in fact, he was, but…" He cleared his throat, and Ian reached into his pack and handed him a battered flask. Dark as it was, he felt the crude fleur-de-lis under his thumb. It was Ian Mòr's old soldier's flask, which his friend had kept from their time in France as young mercenaries, and the feel of it steadied him.

It's a poem, or part of one. Daddy always used to say it, when he'd come home and find Mama puttering in her garden—he said she'd live out there if she could. He used to joke that she—that she'd leave us someday, and go find a place where she could live by herself, with nothing but her plants.

When she was small, she would wake on summer mornings to hear the chatter of her father's lawnmower underneath her window; his voice calling out in greeting to a neighbor. She had felt safe, protected, knowing he was there. More recently, she had waked at dawn and heard Jamie Fraser's voice, speaking in soft Gaelic to his horses outside, and had felt that same feeling return with a rush. No more, though. It

I certainly didn't reach out to my old assets and ask 'em how they're doing, although I would have liked to.

I definitely associate songs with the places that I've been.

It's natural for a child to assume that his or her own childhood is unremarkable.

An astounding thing is that, almost every single week, I have met someone from my past.