Quotes About Nostalgia

She felt very old and mature and wise—which showed how young she was. She told herself that she longed greatly to go back to those dear merry days when life was seen through a rosy mist of hope and illusion, and possessed an indefinable something that had passed away forever. Where was it now—the glory and the dream?

The Blue Chest of Rachel Ward was another ower-true tale. Rachel Ward was Eliza Montgomery, a cousin of my father's, who died in Toronto a few years ago. The blue chest was in the kitchen of Uncle John Campbell's house at Park Corner from 1849 until her death. We children heard its story many a time and speculated and dreamed over its contents, as we sat on it to study our lessons or eat our bed-time snacks.

I think a great deal of those dogs, she said proudly. They are over a hundred years old, and they have sat on either side of this fireplace ever since my brother Aaron brought them from London fifty years ago. Spofford Avenue was called after my brother Aaron.

Well, one can't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once, said Anne gaily. You see, I was little for fourteen years and I've only been grown-uppish for scarcely three.

All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any

They were all there, squatted in the little open glade—Faith and Una, Jerry and Carl, Jem and Walter, Nan and Di, and Mary Vance. They had been having a special celebration, for it would be Jem's last evening in Rainbow Valley. On the morrow he would leave for Charlottetown to attend Queen's Academy. Their charmed circle would be broken; and, in spite of the jollity of their little festival, there was a hint of sorrow in every gay young heart.

away from a world where women bobbed their hair and you couldn't tell who were grandmothers and who were flappers—from behind

Of course it was very interesting to see the old chest unpacked, said the Story Girl as she stirred the contents of a saucepan vigorously. But now that it is over I believe I am sorry that it is opened. It isn't mysterious any longer. We know all about it now, and we can never imagine what things are in it any more.

and the Anne Shirley of other days saw her coming, as they sat on the big veranda at Ingleside, enjoying the charm of the cat's light, the sweetness of sleepy robins whistling among the twilit maples, and the dance of a gusty group of daffodils blowing against the old, mellow, red brick wall of the lawn. Anne was sitting on the steps, her hands clasped over her knee, looking, in the kind

I favor the smell of sweet-grass. It always makes me think of my mother." "She was fond of it?" asked Anne. "Not that I knows on. Dunno's she ever saw any sweet-grass. No, it's because it has a kind of motherly perfume — not too young, you understand — something kind of seasoned and wholesome and dependable — jest like a mother.

L.M. Montgomery

Having left Toronto on the morning train, they were in Charlottetown by mid-afternoon. Jane saw dad the moment she stepped off the train . . . grinning and saying, "Excuse me, but your face seems familiar. Are you by any chance . . ." but Jane had hurled herself at him. They had never been parted . . . she had never been away at all. The

Oh, I wish we had the old days back again, exclaimed Jem. I'd love to be a soldier—a great, triumphant general. I'd give EVERYTHING to see a big battle. Well

many bitter tears when she parted with Maywater chums and the old manse there where her mother had lived and died. She could not contemplate calmly the thought of such another and harder wrench. She COULDN'T leave Glen St. Mary and dear Rainbow Valley and that delicious

it's the homiest spot I ever saw-it's homier than home avowed Philippa Gorden, looking about her with delighted eyes.

And it was so nice to see her again and have a long talk over old times. Her sister Em was there, too, with such a delicious baby." "You talk as if it was something to eat," grunted Mrs. Gibson. "Babies are common enough." "Oh, no, babies are never common," said Anne, bringing a bowl of water for Mrs. Gibson's roses. "Every one is a miracle.

She was still haunted by the ghost of the cake she had drowned.

If we never have any adventures we'll have nothing to remember when we get old.

It is twenty-four years since I was a bride at old Green Gables—the happiest bride that ever was—and the wedding-veil of a happy bride brings good luck

Today, so long, so strange, so bitter; will soon be some forgotten yesterday.

And he wrote, When the moon rises tonight think of me and I'll think of you.

The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there.

El pasado es un país extranjero: allí las cosas se hacen de manera distinta.

My mother had to leave many traditions behind and the more time passed, the more they mattered to her.