Quotes About Nostalgia

Middlemarch offers what George Eliot calls, in a wonderfully suggestive turn of phrase, "the home epic"- the momentous, ordinary journey traveled by most of us who have not even thought of aspiring to sainthood. The home epic has its own nostalgia - not for a country left behind but for a childhood landscape lost.

Didn't you ever have a father yourself? You don't want him for a reason. You want him because he's your father.' So I figured it's because I never had a father that I don't want one now. A person can't miss something she never had.

Because I miss them. Because I need them. Because I love them.

When the Deep Purple falls, Over sleepy garden walls, And the stars begin to flicker in the sky, Thru the mist of a memory You wander back to me, Breathing my name with a sigh. In the still of the night, Once again I hold you tight, Tho' you're gone, your love lives on When moonlight beams. And as long as my heart will beat Lover, we'll always meet Here in my Deep Purple dreams.

we always went back to my grandma's pockets, because she carried in them everything you would need to get through the day or start life in a new state. You wanted hard candy, loose change, a little pencil, a bobby pin, a safety pin, a pre-threaded needle, an aspirin, Band-Aids, stamps or rubber bands? She had them on her person at all times. Those pockets carried what are now carried at bodegas.

The trouble is they don't write the lines I want to use any more.

C'est le passé. L'avenir sombre dans le passé dès qu'il a cessé d'être futur. Le présent n'existe pas. Vouloir l'éterniser, c'était éterniser le néant. C'est ce que j'ai fait !

Wat moesten we beginnen met deze zombie, die ons zo tergend herinnerde aan de Loes die we hadden verloren en die daardoor zwakkelingen van ons maakte, vervuld van heimwee en gemis? Ze was het aan ons verplicht om weer zichzelf te worden, zo niet goedschiks, dan maar kwaadschiks.

After a time, it seemed that the world inside the books became my world. So when I thought of my childhood, it was dandelion wine and ice cream on a summer porch, like Ray Bradbury, and catching catfish with Huck Finn. My own memories receded and the book memories became the real memories, far more than the outside, far more even than in here. B

I take a long gulp of the shake and then say to Blake, "Was there ever a generation that had to live without chocolate?" "I don't know. I don't spend time pondering such atrocities.

The route had been renamed after the war, Sergeant Booth had told them in the taxi. Now it was known as the Road of Remembrance. To Billy, recalling Alf Dawkins with his crutches and his nervous tick, begging for half-crowns, it seemed more a case of how quickly people forgot.

There is nothing wrong with wanting something more, but this was the place that employed your parents, kept you safe, healthy, and educated you. It's the place your mom tucked you into bed, and you

We were drinking a memory, one that would be forever associated with the memory of this trip.

He had retreated into a silent movie of his own making and I was watching from the anonymous remove of a theater seat. He was flickering, growing distant, fading like the '82 Latour.

I realised that everyone present resented the loss of the Hall as much as my father had done. It represented the passing of an old way of life, of the security of knowing one's place. I found it very touching.

Come on, old duck," he coaxed.

London, 1940 It won't even seem like Christmas this year." Maggie Harris's voice cracked as she swallowed back the tears. She had resolved to be strong and brave for Jack's sake, but it was hard. "No pudding. No mince pies. And no tree. Nothing.

while and my mother took care of me. I remember the German in our house—the one she ran off with. I remember we ate rabbit and chestnuts and anything else she could find for us. She'd go off with her

Yo repasaba el álbum de fotografías porque mi papá me había contado que cuando la gente muere se queda a vivir en el momento más feliz de su existencia, y que eso es el cielo.

La ausencia era eso. Un lugar que uno conoce y recuerda de memoria, como si fuera una foto, donde uno falta.

Se recordo quem fui, outrem me vejo, E o passado é o presente na lembrança. Quem fui é alguém que amo Porém somente em sonho. E a saudade que me aflige a mente Não é de mim nem do passado visto, Senão de quem habito Por trás dos olhos cegos. Nada, senão o instante, me conhece. Minha mesma lembrança é nada, e sinto Que quem sou e quem fui São sonhos diferentes.

aunque mi papá no crea en la nostalgia ni en el rencor «porque el tiempo no existe», y el pasado está a punto de pasar, y el presente es el futuro: 3:00 p.m.

I no longer live in Chicago. Not a day goes by when I do not wish I were there.

Guy Molony, who ran away from New Orleans at sixteen to fight in the Boer War. It was the era of romantic soldiering, when boys heeded the call of Rudyard Kipling ("Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, / Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst," he wrote in "Mandalay").