Quotes About Nostalgia

Es ist ein sonderbarer Schmerz. ... Nach etwas zu vergehen, das man nie erleben wird.

Morir de nostalgia por algo que no vivirás jamás.

Llegaron del salón las notas de un piano cansado: disolvían el tiempo, hasta hacerlo casi irreconocible.

en el que fue obligado acuñar el término nostalgia. La primera vez. Ahí, de verdad, el frágil vínculo entre lo real y las ideas tiene su mayor e irrecuperable momento de autenticidad.

Nous sommes un cimetière à la dérive.

Sterven van heimwee naar iets dat je nooit zult beleven.

Guardava quella casa, davanti a sé, e pensava alla misteriosa permanenza delle cose nella corrente mai ferma della vita. Stava pensando che ogni volta, vivendo con loro, si finisce per lasciare su di loro come una mano leggera di vernice, la tinta di certe emozioni destinate a scolorare, sotto il sole, in ricordi.

See on kummaline valu. Surra igatsusest millegi järele, mida sul kunagi ei õnnestunud läbi elada.

There are many sadnesses in the hearts of men who are far away from their countries.

What a strange,old-fashioned thing to think. Bless you. But what other way was there of saying that you wanted only good for somebody, that you wanted the world to be kind to her, to cherish her?Only old-fashioned words would do for that.

She remembered love, though, and a feeling of warmth. It was like remembering light, or the glow that sometimes persists after a light has gone out.

The only thing that makes me sad is that I shall be leaving Africa when I die. I love Africa, which is my mother and my father. When I am dead, I shall miss the smell of Africa

Inside every one of us, thought Mma Ramotswe, there is the child we once were, the child that was unsure about the world and our place in it.

It is the onion, memory, that makes me cry," he said.

Our heads may be small, but they are as full of memories as the sky may sometimes be full of swarming bees, thousands and thousands of memories, of smells, of places, of little things that happened to us and which come back, unexpectedly, to remind us who we are. And who am I?

He said: What is patriotism but love of the food one ate as a child?

A traditional house smelled of wood smoke, the earth, and of thatch; all good smells, the smell of life itself.

You can go through life and make new friends every year—every month practically—but there was never any substitute for those friendships of childhood that survive into adult years. Those are the ones in which we are bound to one another with hoops of steel.

She was, he reflected, one of his closest friends, in a rather curious, slightly old-fashioned way.

and with it would come that wonderful, unmistakable smell of rain, that smell of dust and water meeting that lingered for a few seconds in the nostrils and then was gone, and would be missed, sometimes for months, before the next time that it caught you and made you stop and say to the person with you, any person: That is the smell of rain, there, right now.

I said to him that Zululand sounded fine, but that every man has a map in his heart of his own country and that the heart will never allow you to forget this map.

One might forget so many exotic cheeses, he thought, but the memory of cheddar always remained. Should one be embarrassed by choosing cheddar every time? he asked. Matthew laughed. There's no need to apologize for simple things. But is cheddar simple? Domenica enquired. Just because there's a lot of it, does that make it simple?

Auden returns to one of his most important themes—that of repairing the tragic division in our lives, of making us whole again: While, as they lie in the grass of our neglect, So many long-forgotten objects Revealed by his undisclosed shining Are returned to us and made precious again; Games we thought we must drop as we grew up, Little noises we dared not laugh at, Faces we made when no one was looking. But he wishes us more than this.

She wanted everything back, as we do sometimes in our irrationality and regret; we want it all back.