Quotes About Nostalgia

John Anderson my jo, John,When we were first acquent,Your locks were like the raven,Your bonie brow was brent;But now your brow is beld, John,Your locks are like the snaw,But blessings on your frosty pow,John Anderson my jo!

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to min'?Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And days o' auld lang syne?

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon,How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?How can ye chant, ye little birds,And I sae weary fu' o' care!Thou'll break my heart, thou warbling bird,That wantons thro' the flowering thorn!Thou minds me o' departed joys,Departed never to return.

For auld lang syne, my dear,For auld lang syne,We'll tak a cup o' kindness yetFor auld lang syne!

While we sit bousin, at the nappy, And gettin fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Whare sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

Suddenly I wanted the earlier version back, but there was no retrieving it. When I blurred the lines to soften them it was as if she began to disappear.

And the strange thing was that it felt absolutely familiar, the curve of her arm under my hand and the weight of her head against my shoulder: not discovered but remembered. She felt the way I had always known she would feel. Even the tang of her fear was familiar.

Reconnect with Your Childhood Obsession

Como la vida adulta es aburrida y acomodaticia, nos creamos la ilusión de que la infancia es una especie de edad de oro

What happens first always appears better and more original than what comes after.

Daily Law: Do something today that you used to love doing as a kid. Try to reconnect with your impulse voices. Robert Greene in conversation at Live Talks Los Angeles, February 11, 2019

He glanced around the reading room and closed his eyes, trying to keep hold of the past for a minute longer, a fattening and hungover middle-aged historian in a black corduroy suit.

rare is the schoolchild who has never folded a hat, boat, plane or the ubiquitous fortune-teller or "cootie-catcher.

Mashiara. Beloved of heart and soul, it meant, but a love lost, too. Lost beyond regaining.

Weep for Manetheren. Weep for what is lost forever.

Perhaps I also dwell too much on what is gone. And yet, the groves were beautiful.

one memory above all others, of him who

When old friends get together, everything else fades to insignificance.- War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death

Although motorcycle riding is romantic, motorcycle maintenance is purely classic.

Bouncing on beds, I remember from childhood, is a great depression reliever.

Pretty mountains, pretty river, bumpy but pleasant tar road... old buildings, old people on a front porch... strange how old, obsolete buildings and plants and mills, the technology of fifty and a hundred years ago, always seem to look so much better than the new stuff.

I read a sentence or two, wait for him to come up with his usual barrage of questions, answer them, then read another sentence or two. Classics read well this way. They must be written this way. Sometimes we have spent a whole evening reading and talking and discovered we have only covered two or three pages. It's a form of reading done a century ago.. when Chautauquas were popular. In less you've tried it you can't imagine how pleasant it is to do it this way.

Just a sort of unexplained sadness that comes each afternoon when the new day is gone forever and there's nothing ahead but increasing darkness. The orange

Show me a man who has enjoyed his school days and I'll show you a bully and bore.