Quotes About Nostalgia

Tell me what you ate when you were a child, and whether the memory cheers you up or not.

No self-respecting gastronome was going to look back on the 1950s with anything except pity. •

There had to be a circle of Hell where you were eternally fourteen, eternally in junior high. One of the lower circles.

Once upon a time wasn't as long ago as it used to be.

Everyone else goes home for nostalgia, and happy memories. I end up feeling like I never fit in with the family as a child, and being older hasn't changed that.

I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed! Thus, in the stilly night, Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me. —THOMAS MOORE

Two years ago if a vampire bothered someone I just went out and staked the son of a bitch. Now I had to get a court order of execution. Without it, I was up on murder charges, if I was caught. I longed for the good ol' days. There

Amy read Ovid and Virgil and Aristophanes and Homer. She read dry histories and scandalous love poetry (her governesses, who had little Latin and less Greek, naïvely assumed that anything in a classical tongue must be respectable), but mostly she returned again and again to The Odyssey. Odysseus had fought to go home, and so would Amy.

His father clasped his shoulders, holding him at arm's length, looking him up and down. "You've grown." "It's been eleven years," said Jack numbly. "Of course I've grown.

The old days were slower. People buttered their bread without guilt and sat down to dinner en famille.

At a certain point, memory begins to be a burden.

I want to be in fifth grade again. Now, that is a deep dark secret, almost as big as the other one. Fifth grade was easy -- old enough to play outside without Mom, too young to go off the block. The perfect leash length.

What do you miss about being alive? The sound of my mom singing, a little off-key. The way my dad went to all my swim meets and I could hear his whistle when my head was underwater, even if he did yell at me afterward for not trying harder. I miss going to the library. I miss the smell of clothes fresh out of the dryer. I miss diving off the highest board and nailing the landing. I miss waffles - p. 272.

They were coming, on wings from far away, all the pictures and voices, smells, tastes, all the everything from the past was flying toward me as fast as it could.

We carried cut hay from the heart of the rick, packed tight as tobacco flake, with grass and wild flowers juicily fossilized within – a whole summer embalmed in our arms.

I'm clutching my favorite record, More of the Monkees. I listened to that album incessantly, thinking that Davy Jones might "forget that girl" and find the kindergarten siren of his dreams. I look like a five-year-old mod with dark circles under her eyes.

had to purge 90 percent of my childhood memories from my brain in order to make room for passwords and PINs.

When we arrived at his cottage we had known each other forever.

When I was a kid, buying packets and penny approvals and filling spaces in my Modern Stamp Album, nothing was easier to find and to afford than those German issues. Think of it, a stamp that cost fifty billion marks! And it was mine for a penny!

You may recall a Jules Feiffer cartoon—you may recall a hundred

I heard the pitter patter of little old feet.

I return, link by link, along the iron chains of memory.

I miss the comfort in being sad.

When you get older, it feels like happy memories and sad memories are pretty much the same thing. It is all just emotion in the end. And any of it can make you weep.