Quotes About Nostalgia

I'd never been in love, because I was waiting for the silent-movie love: big eyes and violins, chattering without sound, pure. Nobody had loved right since 1926.

Remember how once, just once, you scored the best dope in the world? Remember how you smoked till your mouth and your throat were all sandpaper and your lungs thought you'd gone down on a fireplace? Remember how you put on your headphones—took three tries, didn't it?—and cranked Dark Side of the Moon or "The Ride of the Valkyries" or whatever most got you off all the way up to eleven, man? Remember what it was like?

I would miss him. He always made so little sense.

I drank coffee and read old books and waited for the year to end.

Im haunted a little this evening by feelings that have no vocabulary and events that should be explained in dimensions of lint rather than words. Ive been examining half-scraps of my childhood. They are pieces of distant life that have no form or meaning. They are things that just happened like lint.

It is idle to say there is no such garden. Everyone recognises the same nostalgia... Paradise is neither a moment nor a place; it is a condition. So when the lover calls to his or her beloved to come into the garden, it is, in the final implication, a summons to overcome to human condition.

You can't revisit a place where you were happy, as you can't re-love someone you've loved and left" ~from "Package Tour

There are few of us who do not believe that there is something special about the place in which we were born.

For those unhappy with modern society, folk music suggested the colors, scents, and textures of a more authentic time. The folk scene offered a purer cultural identity, or at least the fantasy of one.

A place makes a deep impression on you when you're young. It lives with you. It's like your childhood. It fertilises the imagination.

A happy man has no past, while an unhappy man has nothing else.

In trying to escape the fatality of memory, he discovered with an immense sadness that pursuing the past inevitably only leads to greater loss.

What was our life like? I almost don't remember now. Though I remember it , the space of time it occupied. And I remember it fondly.

Poetry's always dead, you know? You don't realize how good poetry is until 15 years later.

There are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again.

Except I think it feels more like an empty stomach than a broken heart. An aching hollowness that food can't cure. You know. You've felt it yourself, I bet. You hurt all the time, you're restless, you can't think straight, you sort of wish you were dead but what you really want is for everything to be the same as it was when you were still with her.. or him

The great times are often that way. In the middle of everything, you suddenly realize that you're having a perfect, golden experience. And you realize how few they are. And how this one is bound to end too soon. You know that it will always be a wonderful memory, that the loss of it will give you a soft ache in the heart. This

It is strange that the mind will forget so much, and yet hold a picture of flowers that have been dead for thirty years or more...

T]here is no fence or hedge round Time that has gone. You can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough.

Bronwen came over plenty of Saturdays after that, but I was always shy of her. I think I must have fallen in love with Bronwen even then and I must have been in love with her all my life since. It is silly to think a child could fall in love. If you think about it like that, mind. But I am the child that was, and nobody knows how I feel, except only me. And I think I fell in love with Bronwen that Saturday on the Hill. Still, that is past.

And I wanted to be as I had been yesterday, a boy again, without the heaviness of doubt, this pressing fear, this new treachery that lifted to realms of singing gold, and in a little space, flung to pits of night.

How green was my Valley, then, and the Valley of them that have gone.

indeed I often dream of it, and I can still feel how I felt, as though I was still small, and all those people were still alive. It is very strange to think back like this, although come to think of it, there is no fence or hedge round Time that has gone. You can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough.

So all I could have of Cienwen was in my mind, and I kept her there as men keep libraries of rare books, seldom to be touched but happy to know you have got.