Quotes About Nostalgia

Everything seems so small here now, old, mashed-in, more rundown even than I remember it, but with a heartbreaking familiarity at each door that makes me wonder if I can take in anything new, so strongly do I feel in Brownsville that I am walking in my sleep.

At the thought of losing Grus, a puppy born a year before on the Endurance, Macklin reflected:

A sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier times.

But the tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me.

Like glimpses of forgotten dreams.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,Tears from the depth of some divine despairRise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,In looking on the happy autumn fields,And thinking of the days that are no more.

Es curioso, normalmente el tiempo recorta el tamaño de los recuerdos y los hace menos impresionantes en su alegría o en su tristeza".

And the best and the worst of this is, That neither is most to blame, If you've forgotten my kisses, And I've forgotten your name.

And the best and the worst of this is That neither is most to blame, If you have forgotten my kisses And I have forgotten your name.

In fact all he can remember of her is that he sent her a postcard he wished afterwards he'd kept for himself.

it's the best fish I've ever caught, that fish I didn't catch, cause it's a fish that will always be with me now and never be eaten, it'll never die, that fish I'll never land.

Because when I think about what it was like to live with you, it was like all these things. It was like living in a poem or a picture, a story, a piece of music, when I think of it now. It was wonderful.

Imagine if people decided at birth never ever to throw away any of the shoes they wore over the whole course of a life, and had a special cupboard where they kept all these old shoes they'd walked about the world in. What would there be in such a shoe museum, when you opened its doors? Row upon row, perfectly preserved, the exact shapes we took at certain points in our lives? Or row upon row, rack upon rack, of nothing but old soiled leather, old stale smell?

Who wants to live with one foot in hell just for the sake of nostalgia? Our time is forever now!

The following is a narrative poem. It became a huge success at the time of its publication, and inspired the 1944 movie The White Cliffs of Dover. It is about an American girl who visits London just before the First World War, marries, and stays in England during the succeeding years, including the start of the Second World War.

I have loved England, dearly and deeply, Since that first morning, shining and pure, The white cliffs of Dover I saw, rising steeply Out of the sea that once made her secure.

Everyone who'd lost something of crucial importance wished he or she could go back to the moment when it was still theirs. The wish was so powerful it seemed it might reverse the direction of time. It bore apparitions and ghosts.

But there was a last time. An unforeseen and uncommemorated last time. I don't remember it. That, more than anything, describes aging to me—the letting go of one activity after the next, with no fanfare. Just realizing later that the last time has come and gone," Agnes said.

There was nothing to replace an old friend who knew everything, who'd spent enough time in the childhood home to know the atmosphere and how emotions and silences transpired—to know how the other had really grown up. Polly felt the power of this truth as she sat in this room that she knew before she had language, with this person with whom she was a friend before friendship even began.

She stared at it for a long time, seeing the rabbit in the moon, and thoughts of Watership Down, which she'd read as a child, drifted into her head.

It was not the future they'd been objecting to, but the loss of the past. As if it was his fault that you could now have one without the other

It was as if he stopped time for them two weeks out of every year, cut them off from both the past and the future so that they had only this present in a brand-new place, this present in which her children sought the sight and the scent of her: a wonderful thing, when you noticed it. When the past and the future grew still enough to let you notice it. He did that for her. This man she'd married.

Spirit of place! It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name.

I want to go back to where I once lived, but it isn't there anymore; that one of me isn't here.