Quotes About Nostalgia

here I was: shouting compliments about Joe through the mayonnaise-colored living room of my childhood and hoping I would start to believe them.

It was the best night ever. And they hadn't talked about any of it since.

This was their favorite place to meet. It always felt hidden, forgotten. The gold-lettered World Book encyclopedias from the 1980s. The smell of old glue and crumbling paper, the industrial carpet burning her palms. It reminded her of what you did when you were a little girl, making little burrows and hideaways. Like boys did with forts. Eli and his friend, stacking sofa cushions, pretending to be sharpshooters. With girls, you didn't call them forts, though it was the same.

As Katie moved through the rooms, everything reminded her of everything:

All these years later, the story of their parents' end, passed down like lore, still seemed unbearably romantic to their students—less so to Marie, who, after sobbing violently next to her sister, Dara, through the funeral, insisted, I never saw them hold hands once.

Where'd that world go, that world when you're a kid, and now I can't remember noticing anything, not the smell of the leaves or the sharp curl of dried maple on your ankles, walking? I live in cars now, and my own bedroom, the windows sealed shut, my mouth to my phone, hand slick around its neon jelly case, face closed to the world, heart closed to everything.

Because they do burn leaves here, the older folks do, and I remember now that I love it and always have. The way fall feels at night because of it, because of the crackling sound and walking around the sidewalks, like when you're a kid, and kicking those soft piles, and seeing smoke from backyards and Mr. Kilstrap standing over the metal drum with the holes in the top, the sparking embers at his feet.

Some memories fade to tender nostalgia, and some fade altogether,

For so delicious were the words she'd sung, it seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long.

losing a friend is like losing a language, and I miss the one we spoke together.

Memory can refuse to let you forget what you'd like to and run away with what you want to remember. It's an unreliable bitch, or your best friend. Sometimes, it's both at once.

You don't have to be sad to miss someone and wish they were still in your life.

Once upon a time the sun hadn't risen without her thinking about Nick's smile, and the wind hadn't blown without it whispering his name.

The past is gone, Claire. It's like a sand castle washed away by the waves. We can remember what it looked like, but even if we build it again, it won't be the exactly the same.

There had been times when missing him had felt like someone had reached inside her and pulled out the part of her that remembered how to breathe. And times when she'd barely given the memories of him a second's worth of her time.

I made my goodbyes and stole away the photos of them in their youth, leaving them to what they'd made of their lives.

The circular conversation wasn't new. Instead of feeling annoyed, I felt only sad. This man, for better or worse, was my father.

Some things never left you, no matter how much you wanted them to.

You have stopped the arrow of time... There's no meaning to this rhyme... Because my song will never mean as much as the one.. He once sang.. For you, yes, you...

Sometimes we miss people, and it's beyond words.

A moss which leaves its ocean becomes pale and dries up and a man which leaves his mother country is a moss which leaves it ocean!

Man is a tireless traveller wandering in the dark valleys of his past!

Moments fly, memories remain; and then memories fly, only memoirs remain and finally memoirs disappear, nothing remains!

Old houses are full with memories and that's why they resist to collapse!