Quotes About Nostalgia

I think the thing's that perhaps sad really is that younger people haven't come in and I think it must have been absolutely fantastic to have worked in the 50's when you had all of the great Broadway composers and when West Side Story didn't win the Tony Award.

Magpie' by The Unthanks),

New York, which I had complained about for so long, became a beacon, a place I missed terribly whenever I was away and then glutted myself on until I was sick when I came back. You move away from the city and suddenly everyone wants to have drinks. Nobody'll hang out unless you leave.

She'd been surprised by the pang that the idea of the place gave her. She didn't think of herself as a romantic about location, even though she was secretly romantic about everything.

When Dad was alive, the world was filled with color. Afterward, color only existed as a number on a list of hues. Everything felt muted.

The visit, like all visits home for a long time now, has been an obscure failure. When is it we cease to be able to go back, truly go back? What secret door is it that closes?

It was a childhood where she wanted for nothing materially but everything emotionally.

In April 1983

Kelly stepped out from behind him and my father showed more emotion. Parents always give their grandchildren more affection, I thought. It's as if when their children reach a certain age, that display has to be constricted and put into storage until the grandchildren come along and it can be revived.

The past isn't really the past," Tully said. "It's just music, books, and films.

It's still home, Cager, and there's something about home, no matter how untidy we've left it.

You know, nothing ever goes back exactly the way it was. Things just expand and contract. Like the universe, like breathing. But you'll never fill your lungs up with the same air twice. Sometimes, it would be cool if you could pause and rewind and do over. But I think anyone would get tired of that after one or two times.

With the gates thrown open, the men of Charlie Company rushed the pool, in a flurry of cannonballs and belly flops. For a few happy minutes the teenagers within the warriors emerged. Splashing, diving – having fun. The water accepted them, didn't care about their sins. They were back on Pismo Beach, the banks of Lake Michigan, the local pond.

Too many things have changed. Too much time has passed. I'm different now, a man with a pocketful of unconnected but terribly vivid memories. I was looking to dredge up what I'd long forgotten. Most of all, I am wishing for something to fasten all these gems, maybe something to hold them in a continuity that I can comprehend.

And that survey is the one we all go back to. When you find one of their original corners, it is like a handshake with the past.

a memory from one's youth is a lovely thing. It's not easy to get rid of such a memento. Even if now it's passé and pompously banal.

Little dryads fell asleep listening raptly to the wind blowing in the trees. Little witchers fell asleep listening raptly to their aching arms and legs. Our eyes also shone like Braenn's when we listened to the tales of Vesemir in Kaer Morhen. But that was long ago… So long ago… 'Well

Ile to min??o od... Rok? -Rok, dwa miesi?ce i osiemna?cie dni. -Wzruszasz mnie. Celowo? -Celowo. Yen...

Men like to meet their former lovers, like to relive memories. They like to imagine that erstwhile erotic ecstasies give them some kind of perpetual ownership of their partner. It enhances their self-importance.

Men like to see their former lovers again to reminisce about the good old times. They take pleasure in imagining that their bygone love affairs assure them a perpetual right of possession on their ex-partners. It's good for their self-esteem. You're no exception, apparently.

Zamykam oczy i widzÄ™ zÅ'ote iskry. CzujÄ™ zapach jabÅ'ek. Branwen. Zapach piór sokoÅ'a siedzÄ…cego na mojej rÄ™kawicy, gdy wracam z Å'owów. ZÅ'ote iskry. WidzÄ™ jej twarz. WidzÄ™ krzywiznÄ™ policzka, maÅ'y, lekko zadarty nos. KrÄ…gÅ'o?? ramienia. WidzÄ™ j?… NoszÄ™ j?… NoszÄ™ jÄ… na wewnÄ™trznej stronie powiek.

That's why I drove there in the middle of February, patches of snow still on the fields. I had the strong feeling that somewhere between Sluejow, Wygwizdow, and Solec time had ground to a halt or simply evaporated or melted like a dream and no longer separated us from our childhood.

Sometimes I imagine a map composed only of the places I'd like to see once more.

Air, however, closed within a solid form, and space, shaped by vaulting, walls and architectural detail, becomes the most perfect representation of nostalgia. You can walk into it, feel its touch on your skin, but it all flows between your fingers, you can hold it in your lungs, but just for a moment.