Quotes About Nostalgia

Passion is something you really don't miss, after it has cooled. It is like looking at an empty bottle on the side of the road and thinking, "Boy, I wish I had a Coke." The loves you miss are the ones that go away when they are still warm, even hot, to the touch.

You do not hate the time you waste; it evokes a much more passive emotion than that. You only wish you had it back, like a quarter in an unlucky slot machine.

It was a good moment, the kind you would like to press between the pages of a book, or hide in your sock drawer, so you could touch it again.

You put a song on the record or on tape and you stop singing it. You just don't sit around and sing it anymore unless you're performing. That's kind of sad.

However, popular culture defines Nature as an "other," a near-sentient force operating beyond the bounds of human community. I was raised with that notion and can empathize with the nostalgia often accompanying it, but I can't accept the idea of a separate Nature any more than I believe digital data resides in "The Cloud" (the data resides in machinery that is typically plugged into a wall socket).

The past was so past it hurt.

College was at the heart of his sentimental imagination.

Your adult life was nothing more than an exercise in forgetting your childhood. Always angry because you didn't get the approval all children need.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Debbie Jacobs and a boy named Teddy Dennis.

You never know when you're making a memory Rickie Lee Jones, from "Young Blood," Ricki Lee Jones (1979)

them, the Beatles, and they would remain my true love, musically at least, for the rest of my life.

I feel cheesy when I see 'Silver Spoons.' Some of it was funny, but some of it was just cheese! My kids love it, but I look at it and cringe.

I did a lot of gasoline commercials - Hess, Texaco. I was part of the family in the car, the little brat in the back.

I've got tapes that I'm so thankful that my father made - old reel-to-reel tapes. I've got a ton of those things at home. He kept those like fine diamonds, I mean he kept them, you know, in a box and was very, very careful of them, you know.

Memories do not fade even if you do not keep them in mind all the time. They lay deep inside of me, they're always with me. Memories never end.

For inst. when the telephone rings now days I am scared to death that its somebody asking us to go somewheres for dinner or somewheres. Six yrs. ago I was afraid it wasn't. At 29 home was like they say on the vaudeville stage, a place to go when all the other joints was closed up. At 35 its a place you never leave without a loud squawk.

May said, 'Your granda's been

I write for the girl I once was, who found paradise in the pages of a book and pure music in the characters' voices . . .

From the time I began to read, as a child, I loved to feel their heft in my hand and the warm spot caused by their intimate weight in my lap; I loved the crisp whisper of a page turning, the musky odor of old paper and the sharp inky whiff of new pages. Leather bindings sent me into ecstasy. I even loved to gaze at a closed book and daydream about the possibilities inside.

I believe the true function of age is memory. I'm recording as fast as I can.

I had a lot of those memories clicking before me like projector slides in the dark. Lots of pictures, smells and sounds flashing in and out.

I remember a time when smoke filled the house. Not coughing smoke but smoke from a woman's smooth-voiced singing, with piano, bass, and drums. All together these sounds made smoke. Uncle Darnell would say, "You can't remember that. You were two. Three, maybe." But I do. I still see, hear, and feel bits and flashes. The sounds of musical smoke.

Garcia One Crazy Summer P.S. Be Eleven Gone Crazy in Alabama Blue Tights Every Time a Rainbow Dies Fast Talk on a Slow Track Jumped Like Sisters on the Homefront No Laughter Here

Unless you have been to boarding-school when you are very young, it is absolutely impossible to appreciate the delights of living at home.