Quotes About Nostalgia

Oh, strawberries don't taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! And some men eased themselves like setting hens into the nest of death.

Güzellik neden ille de eskiye ait olsun ki?

When the radio was on, music has stimulated memory of times and places, complete with characters and stage sets, memories so exact that every word of dialogue is recreated. And I have projected future scenes, just as complete and convincing--scenes that will never take place. I've written short stories in my mind, chuckling at my own humor, saddened or stimulated by structure or content.

In the books of some memories it was the best time that ever sloshed over the world - the old time, the gay time, sweet and simple, as though time were young and fearless. Old men who didn't know whether they were going to stagger over the boundary of the century looked forward to it with distaste. For the world was changing, and sweetness was gone, and virtue too.

Benar. Kita tak pernah lagi menjumpai kebahagiaan yang setara dengan kebahagiaan masa kanak-kanak kita. Pablo mengangguk sedih.

When I was a child growing up in Salinas we called San Francisco "the City". Of course it was the only city we knew, but I still think of it as the City, and so does everyone else who has ever associated with it. A strange and exclusive work is "city". Besides San Francisco, only small sections of London and Rome stay in the mind as the City. New Yorkers say they are going to town. Paris has no title but Paris. Mexico City is the Capital. p197

And even childhood was no good any more—not the way it was. No worry then but how to find a good stone, not round exactly but flattened and water-shaped, to use in a sling pouch cut from a discarded shoe. Where did all the good stones go, and all simplicity?

My great complaint is that the only possession I carry about with me is a bag of losses. I am the owner solely of the memory of things I used to have. Perhaps it is well--for I seem to love them more now that I have them not.

And Ma smiled sadly, He is. Tommy's growed way up - way up so I can't get aholt of 'im sometimes.

I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live...

Oh, strawberries don't taste as they used to and the thighs of women have lost their clutch! And

Oh, but strawberries will never taste so good again and the thighs of women have lost their clutch!

It's a thing to see when a boy comes home. It's a thing to see.

Monterey is a place, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream.

And when he drove away from his old friends they knew they would not see him again, although he did not say it. He took to gazing at the mountains and the trees, even at faces, as though to memorize them for eternity.

Tom Wolfe was right," he reflected. "You can't go home again because home has ceased to exist except in the mothballs of memory.

Give a little party," she insisted. "Just a small affair. Nobody will dress. It's the anniversary of the founding of the Bloomer League—you didn't even remember that." "It's no use," said Tom.

Now it is over," he said sadly. "Now the great times are done. Thy friends will mourn, but nothing will come of their mourning." Danny

We each peeled a stick and solemnly chewed it; it was Beeman's peppermint, and nothing so delicious has been made since.

They reminded him of something—what was it?—some memory, some picture. He strove to find it and then it came of itself. It rose out of the years complete with all its colours and its cries, its crowded feelings.

along the road. He heard the iron tires of the cart grinding on the road. He turned and looked after it, and on the slope he saw old Samuel against the sky, his white hair shining with starlight.

You're too young a man to be panning memories, Adam.

When he read his father's books, he was the first. He lived in a world shining and fresh and as uninspected as Eden on the sixth day.

For some reason he remembered the Mexican name for carnations. Somebody must have told him when he was a kid. They were called Nails of Love ---and marigolds , the Nails of Death. It was a word lie nails---claveles. Maybe he'd better put marigolds on his mothers grave.