Quotes About Nostalgia

I grew up kissing books and bread

Maybe I should go home. I miss Bombay. But the Bombay I miss isn't there to go home to anymore. This is who we are. We sail away from the place we love and then because we aren't there to love it people go with axes and burning torches and smash and burn and then we say, Oh, too sad. But we abandoned it, left it to our barbarian successors to destroy.

Ravings, in short, jealousy of the past, the worst kind of all.

She allowed history to leave her without trying to hold it back, the way children allow a grand parade to pass, holding it in their memory, making it an unforgettable thing, making it their own

Once, I belonged to the future. The beloved future of my beloved mother, that was what counted; the present was a means, and the past no more than a dull shard of pottery, a bottle dug up by my father on the beach. Now, however, I belong to yesterday. Is that a line from a song? I forget. Is it?

The past is a broken cardboard suitcase full of photographs of things I no longer wish to see.

Exilatul nu poate uita - si trebuie, prin urmare, sa simuleze - arsita uscata din Desh, fostul si viitorul lui taram, in care pana si Luna este fierbinte si picura ca niste lipii proaspete, date cu unt. O, cat de dor ii e de acea parte a lumii, unde soarele si luna sunt de genul masculin, dar lumina lor dulce si fierbinte are intotdeauna nume femeiesti!...

Saladin had been seized by the melancholy notion that the garden had been a better place before he knew its names, that something had been lost which he would never be able to regain.

After August 1958, the world continued to spin; but the world of my childhood had, indeed, come to an end. Padma—did you have, when you were little, a world of your own? A tin orb on which were imprinted the continents and oceans and polar ice? Two cheap metal hemispheres, clamped together by a plastic stand? No, of course not; but I did.

Rani, too, was perpetuating memories. Harappa the martyr, the demigod, lived on in his daughter's thoughts; but no two sets of memories ever match, even when their subject is the same (...)

I was born in the city of Bombay...once upon a time.

collections are amusing only in the making; afterwards they are like sporting prints without the sport. The sons of collectors inherit only the corpse of their fathers' satisfied passion.

We old athletes carry the disfigurements and markings of contests remembered only by us and no one else. Nothing is more lost than a forgotten game.

I didnt really watch Dallas growing up, as I was a bit young and into other things, like sports.

You can't escape the taste of the food you had as a child. In times of stress, what do you dream about? Your mother's clam chowder. It's security, comfort. It brings you home.

Money stress is what used to remind me of my Dad most.

We always reminisce about how everyone tried to get Diane Lane's attention, to very little success.

A combination of all that was best in the gladdest days of the departing year.

I suppose I passed it a hundred times, But I always stop for a minute. And look at the house, the tragic house, The house with nobody in it.

The concept of the "good ol' days" must be one of our society's biggest delusions, top reasons for depression, as well as most often used excuse for lack of success.

I remember playing Coachella and seeing kids in the audience who weren't even born when we had our initial run of success. They were singing along to every word, which was an amazing thing to see.

When the playing is over, one can sense that one's youth has been spent playing a game, and now both the game and youth are gone.

I have never been a child prodigy. When I think back to my childhood, I can not discern any sign of future success. My only real talent couldn't be found in any curriculum: whistling.

So it's 1976 and we're still riding on our past success. I mean I've gone on like that for I don't know how long.