Quotes About Nostalgia

One can experience a situation of the past with the same freshness as if it occurred in the here and now; that is, one can re-create the past, bring it to life (resurrect the dead, symbolically speaking). To the extent that one does so, the past ceases to be the past; it is the here and now.

War es denn nicht auch manchmal schön gewesen? Hatte er immer nur die Lüge gespürt, die hier umging, und die böse heimliche Gewalt, die aus ganzen Kindergenerationen gehorsame Bürger machte? Es war manchmal schön gewesen, aber nur trotzdem.

Um die Hauptsache nicht zu vergessen, bitte ich euch in dieser hoffentlich unverlierbaren Stunde: Vergesst eure Jugend nicht! Das klingt jetzt, wo ihr noch Kinder seid, recht überflüssig. Aber es ist nicht überflüssig. Glaubt es uns! Wir sind älter geworden und trotzdem jung geblieben. Wir wissen Bescheid, wir beiden!

Die Mutter winkte noch lange mit dem Taschentuch. Dann drehte sie sich langsam um und ging nach Hause. Und weil sie das Taschentuch sowieso schon in der Hand hielt, weinte sie gleich ein bißchen.

And even if these scenes from our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

but that's what mankind is like: they only prize what they no longer possess.

To-day we would pass through the scenes of our youth like travellers. We are burnt up by hard facts; like tradesmen we understand distinctions, and like butchers, necessities. We are no longer untroubled—we are indifferent. We might exist there; but should we really live there? We are forlorn like children, and experienced like old men, we are crude and sorrowful and superficial—I believe we are lost.

Sre?a, kad je doživljujemo, nikad nije potpuna. Tek u sje?anju postaje potpuna...

Jugend! Wir sind alle nicht mehr als zwanzig Jahre. Aber jung? Jugend? Das ist lange her. Wir sind alte Leute.

Ravic emptied his glass. He got a package of cigarettes out of his pocket, took one out and lit it. His hands were not yet steady. He flung the match on the floor and ordered another calvados. That face, that smiling face which he thought he had just seen again—he must have been

Es piece?os un p?rlaižu acis istabai. Griesti ir zemi un sl?pi, un telpa nav liela, bet man taj? ir viss, kas vajadz?gs, - gulta, plaukts ar gr?mat?m, galds, p?ris kr?slu un vecas klavieres.

One lost easiest what one held in one's arms— never what one left.

it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

Korraga valdab mind aja nimetu raskemeelsus - see voolab ja voolab ning muutub, ja kui sa naased, ei leia sa enam midagi taas. Hüvasti jätta on raske - kuid naasta on vahel veelgi raskem.

Once we had such desires - but they return not. They are past, they belong to another world that is gone from us.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to use we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, daß die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer – eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren – aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.

das verlorene Bereitsein meiner Jugend

Iron Youth. Youth! We are none of us more than twenty years old. But young? Youth? That is long ago. We are old folk.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us, we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do. The tender, secret influence that passed from them into us could not rise again. We might be amongst them and move in them; we might remember and love them and be stirred by the sight of them. But it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man himself it is not.

And even if these scenes of our youth were given back to us we would hardly know what to do . . . it would be like gazing at the photograph of a dead comrade; those are his features, it is his face, and the days we spent together take on a mournful life in the memory; but the man itself it is not. We could never regain the old intimacy with those scenes.

I implore them with my eyes: Speak to me—take me up—take me, Life of my Youth—you who are care-free, beautiful—receive me again— I wait, I wait. Images float through my mind, but they do not grip me, they are mere shadows and memories. Nothing—nothing—

Die Stille ist die Ursache dafür, dass die Bilder des Früher nicht so sehr Wünsche erwecken als Trauer - eine ungeheure, fassungslose Schwermut. Sie waren - aber sie kehren nicht wieder. Sie sind vorbei, sie sind eine andere Welt, die für uns vorüber ist.