Quotes About Nostalgia

Tenía usted razón cuando me decía que en la vida, lo que cuenta no es el porvenir, sino el pasado.

Des photos comme il en existe dans toutes les familles. Le temps de la photo, ils étaient protégés quelques secondes et ces secondes sont devenues une éternité.

Friedo Lampe. Au bord de la nuit. Ce nom et ce titre m'évoquaient les fenêtres éclairées dont vous ne pouvez pas détacher le regard. Vous vous dites que, derrière elles, quelqu'un que vous avez oublié attend votre retour depuis des années ou bien qu'il n'y a plus personne. Sauf une lampe qui est restée allumée dans l'appartement vide.

Ces après-midi d'été où vous ne savez plus très bien en quelle année vous êtes.

Encore aujourd'hui, il m'arrive d'entendre, le soir, une voix qui m'appelle par mon prénom, dans la rue. Une voix rauque. Elle traîne un peu sur les syllabes et je la reconnais tout de suite: la voix de Louki.

Je préfère remonter à pied les Champs-Elysées un soir de printemps. Ils n'existent plus vraiment aujourd'hui, mais, la nuit, ils font encore illusion. Peut-être sur les Champs-Elysées entendrai-je ta voix m'appeler par mon prénom...

Eram absolut hotarata sa nu ma mai intorc niciodata la gasca de la Canter. Mai tarziu, am regasit aceeasi stare de betie de fiecare data cand rupeam legatura cu cineva. Nu eram cu adevarat eu insami decat in clipa in care plecam. Singurele mele amintiri placute sunt cele ale fugii precipitate. Dar viata iesea intotdeauna invingatoare.

Patrick Modiano

He had us sit on a bench, then he posed us in front of a wall shaded by a row of trees, on Avenue Denfert-Rochereau. I've kept one of those shots. My girlfriend and I are sitting on the bench. To me it's as if they were other people, not us, because of the years that have passed, or maybe because of what Jansen saw through his lens, which we wouldn't have seen in a mirror at the time: two anonymous teenagers lost in Paris.

Non ero veramente me stessa se non nel momento in cui fuggivo. Gli unici bei ricordi che ho sono ricordi di fughe vere e proprie o di scappatelle da casa.

To see the ocean once is to learn how to miss it. ~Mistress Coyle

The only place you belong is the place you can never go back. And so yer always alone, forever and always.

The only place you belong is the place you can never go back to.

He'd known Lily forever. Or for as long as he could remember, which was basically the same thing.

The whole room was like a museum of how people lived in olden times.

You are what you remember. You are what you hold on to.

The only place you belong is the place you can never go back.

Memory is stupid, ain't it?

What happens when you get older? Do you just forget everything before you turned eighteen? Do you make yourself forget?

Besides, what was more perfect an object than a book? The different rags of paper, smooth or rough under your fingers. The edge of the page pressed into your thumbprint as you turned a new chapter. The way your bookmark -fancy, modest, scrap paper, candy wrapper -moved through the width of it, marking your progress, a little further each time you folded it shut.

To see the ocean once is to learn how to miss it.

You," I said, "are sweet music in a distant room.

Stories don't need to be new to bring you joy. Some stories are like familiar friends. Some are dependable as bread.

The strings felt strange against my fingers, like reunited friends who have forgotten what they have in common.