Quotes About Nostalgia

No, I stayed home. And yet, in one way or another -- by way of telephone conversations, letters, photographs, or simply memories -- all of these worlds were part of my day today.

I'm no actor. And I wasn't like George Lucas or Spielberg, making home movies as a teenager, either. But I would go back and watch certain movies again and again. By the time I saw 'The Graduate' I was aware of how these amazing stories could be told.

It is sadder to find the past again and find it inadequate to the present than it is to have it elude you and remain forever a harmonious conception of memory.

But I think she would have been happy with Fabrice,' I said. 'He was the great love of her life, you know.' Oh, dulling,' said my mother, sadly. 'One always thinks that. Every, every time.

He was the great love of her life you know.' 'Oh, dulling,' said my mother, sadly, 'One always thinks that. Every, every time.

There they are, held like flies in the amber of that moment—click goes the camera and on goes life; the minutes, the days, the years, the decades, taking them further and further from that happiness and promise of youth, from the hopes Aunt Sadie must have had for them, and from the dreams they dreamed for themselves. I often think there is nothing quite so poignantly sad as old family groups.

Inrealized how valuable the art and practice of writing letters are, and how important it is to remind people of what a treasure letters--handwritten letters--can be. In our throwaway era of quick phone calls, faxes, and email, it's all to easy never to find the time to write letters. That's a great pity--for historians and the rest of us.

Memories flooded back for me as I mourned increasing losses.

Grinning with delight even as my heart ached—a familiar bittersweet feeling, that of enjoying affection from afar—I watched until they all went inside, the cab and the barouche drove away, and it became apparent that the moment of drama was over.

premier firm in Seattle. Seeing his pre-teen scrawl should have made him smile at his young self.

dreams pulled at him. His mom never should have sent him his list of dreamy-eyed

When Evan Chance read the bucket list he'd penned when he was twelve years old, he caught a glimpse of the man he'd wanted to be when he grew up. Now, at nearly thirty-five, he knew he was not that man.

I was born in a town that was straight out of a fairy tale. Many people died there, and when I walked away, I held hands with my other self. To me it seemed like we were the only two people in the world. Neither one of us possessed a real name.

We who live in Hendon now like to imagine ourselves elsewhere. We carry our homeland on our backs, unpacking it where we find ourselves., never too thoroughly nor too well, for we will have to pack it up again one day. Hendon does not exist; it is only where we are, which is the least of all ways to describe us.

Books were like old friends, with their worn covers and well-thumbed pages..

I Still Have Everything You Gave Me It is dusty on the edges. It is slightly rotten. I guard it without thinking. I focus on it once a year when I shake it out in the wind. I do not ache. I would not trade.

Even now, years later, there's only one face I see when I hear the word "beautiful." High cheekbones with alabaster skin. The most astonishing green irises set in unblinking almond eyes. Long black hair, sleek as a waterfall of onyx.

You're already seared in my memory, kiska," he murmurs. "No picture necessary.

Ma non si amano soltanto le memorie felici. A un certo punto della vita, ci si accorge che si amano le memorie.

They weren't happy memories because your father and I were never happy together. Even if we had been briefly and occasionally happy, everything got sullied, ripped up, and destroyed. But people don't love each other only for happy memories. At a certain point in life, you realize that you just love the memories.

It seemed to us that his sadness was that of a boy, the voluptuous heedless melancholy of a boy who has still not come down to earth, and moves in the arid, solitary world of dreams.

Visualize a place that you really love, be there, see the details. Now write about it.

The old men with their traditions challenged Refrained from tears.

I have a rotary phone from the sixties, it take forever to dial, which keeps me from making impulsive calls.