Quotes About Nostalgia

Back out in what passed for daylight, he was greeted by ancient, tall tenements staring blankly at each other from either side of the street, making it feel more like a tunnel, making it feel as if night had fallen. If there had been no people around, you might have mistaken it for a film set of a Dickens novel. You might have mistaken it for the past itself.

O passado é aquilo que transportamos connosco

Ursula missed the sound of church bells. There were so many simple things she had taken for granted before the war. She wished that she could go back and appreciate them properly.

Home was an idea, and like Arcadia it was lost in the past. She

L'Air du Temps

Her past already seemed an antiquated curiosity—a virtual space re-created by the museum of the future.

genuine sentiment rather than just nostalgia, always a bit of a cheap emotion

There was just a beautiful, unearthly silence. He thought of the wood and the bluebells, the owl and the fox, a Hornby train trundling around his bedroom floor, the smell of a cake baking in the oven. The skylark ascending on his thread of song. F-Fox

When Theo returned along St. Andrews Street the girl with the custard-yellow hair was no longer there and he worried that she might never be there again. Because that was how it happened: one moment you were there, laughing, talking, breathing, and the next you were gone. Forever. And there wasn't even a shape left in the world where you'd been, neither the trace of a smile nor the whisper of a word. Just nothing

Home... wasn't Egerton Gardens, wasn't even Fox Corner. Home was an idea, and like Arcadia it was lost in the past.

I know many writers who say that the memory of reading fairy tales is their first, and sometimes only, memory of rapture. I hope that this unpredictable, intense collection inspires you to read fairy tales-and then to read them again.

Experience can't be reduced to a 4x6 inch still, her mother says. People stick their loves in cellophane prisons. They incarcerate images. Then they put these cemeteries on coffee tables. They're mockeries.

My father is taking me to my first baseball game. The Philadelphia Athletics are playing. I feel I've been sitting on my strange hard seat for a long time. I stand up. It is the National Anthem. I want to go home now, I tell my father. He is looking down at the big green field. But the game hasn't started yet, he says. Then he shrugs. He laughs and his laughter is big like the wind. O.K., kid. O.K. And he takes my by the hand and leads me out of the stadium.

I hope you won't completely forget me.

She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air. (last lines)

Thinking about her was the same as the hole you keep on feeling with your tongue after you lose a tooth. Time after time, my mind kept going to that empty spot, the spot where I felt like she should be.

The shapes arranged themselves into words, and the words spelled out a delicious and wonderful phrase: Once upon a time.

Farewell is a word that, in any language, is full of sorrow. It is a word that promises nothing.

But I'm not ready to let Winn-Dixie go.

Casarse con un marqués o con un conde resultaría de lo más romántico, pero, ¿no ha de ser un consuelo para dos personas echar la vista atrás hacia un mismo pasado?

We'll smell of fish forever," I said. "That would be nice.

how his grandfather used to stroke his brow

That which was and is no more is hidden treasure.

All we know, Midnight. The best of all we know. For Chestry Valley and its master we loved. For Nana. For Sugarloaf and Brimstone Farm. For Pop and Mom and Tom. For the foals to come. For yesterday and for all tomorrows, we dance the best we know. For good-by.