Quotes About Nostalgia

Al buscar el olvido, trataban de recordar.

He is a man who seems to ache at the slightest parting, always turning when he leaves you for a long glance back as if against the possibility he might never see you again

This was like childhood, this grief.

He paid the driver, then turned and stood motionless under a misty streetlamp's glow, staring up at a window of the house like a melancholy traveler frozen in time.

London is a bad habit one hates to lose.

Remembrance of things past.

For you there's rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savor all the winter long.

'Tis ever commonThat men are merriest when they are from home.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Old fashions please me best.

True is it that we have seen better days.

The memory be green.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought And with old woes new wail my dear times' waste.

We have seen better days.

would not be for the sake of a woman five years dead whose image in my mind was now as evanescent as the smell of lavender in an old drawer.

It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it.

Now I carry those days in a tiny box wherever I go. I open the lid like this and let the light glimpse and then glance away. There is a sigh like my breath when I do this. Some days I do this again and again. — William Stafford, from "Remembering," The Darkness Around Us Is Deep: Selected Poems , ed. Robert Bly (HarperPerennial, 1993)

Father and son No sound - a spell- on, on out where the wind went, our kite sent back its thrill along the string that sagged but sang and said, "I'm here! I'm here!" - till broke somewhere, gone years ago, but sailed forever clear of earth. I hold-whatever tugs the other end-I hold that string.

There are friends one makes at a youthful age in whom one simply rejoices, for whom one possesses a love and loyalty mysteriously lacking in the friendships made in after-years, no matter how genuine.

Memories can be everything if we choose to make them so. But you are right: you mustn't do that. That is for me, and I shall do it.

The flies of some other summer darkening its windowsills.

But you didn't lose touch with a place when it wasn't there any more, you didn't lose touch with yourself as you were when you were part of it, with your childhood, with your simplicity then.

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,The earth, and every common sight,To me did seemAppareled in celestial light,The glory and the freshness of a dream.It is not now as it hath been of yore—Turn wheresoe'er I may,By night or day,The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

Though nothing can bring back the hourOf splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.