Quotes About Nostalgia

The next thing most like living one's life over again seems to be a recollection of that life, and to make that recollection as durable as possible by putting it down in writing.

The song Cant Look Back Now by the Weepies reminds me of the entire Life Unexpected experience.

I will rememeber you. Will you remember me? Don't let your life pass you by and don't forget all your memories.

He may be out of my life physically, but he'll always be a part of me. I can't let go even if I wanted to.

My life is as good as an Abba song. It's as good as Dancing Queen.

Mem'ry All alone in the moonlight I can smile at the old days Life was beautiful then.

She was born in Baton Rouge, her favorite song was In My Life.

I consider always the adult life to be the continuous retrieval of childhood.

When you're young you don't think, 'This person is going to change your life.' But when you start recording your own songs, it comes back and reminds you.

Some people prefer the finer things in life, I'm alright just hanging out with the ghost of Vincent Price

1984 THE PLEASUREDOME 'It was much more baroque. I think what happened is that as we became a successful touring band, we were no longer those kids in the street, we were no longer going to those clubs. Even though London is an exciting place, all of those poor Blitz Kids were becoming rich kids because they were becoming successful.' GARY KEMP

My dad was kind of a pool shark and had a Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin thing going on. I've always been fascinated by the fifties because of him. There was a hip, cool, anything-goes atmosphere back then, but looking good was still a priority.

It's like, no matter what I do, I always feel like I'm five years old, and I end up in the back of my father's car looking out the window, and nothing has changed in 25 years.

And honored among wagons I was prince of the apple towns.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughsAbout the lilting house and happy as the grass was green.

One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.

Most of the time we are trying to make the good things last, or we are thinking about replacing them with something even better in the future, or we are sunk in the past, reminiscing about happier times. Ironically, we never truly appreciated the experience for which we are nostalgic because we were too busy clinging to our hopes and fears at the time.

In the landscapes we love, our weaknesses take on another aspect.

Houses have their own ways of dying, falling as variously as the generations of men, some with a tragic roar, some quietly, but to an afterlife in the city of ghosts, while from others, and thus was the death of Wickham Place, the spirit slips before the body perishes.

To perceive Christmas through its wrapping becomes more difficult with every year.

I see it for what is is, now. It is a house built on ashes. Ashes of the life Granddad shared with Gran, ashes of the maple from which the tire swing flew, ashes of the old Victorian house with the porch and the hammock. The new house is built on the grave of all the trophies and symbols of the family: the New Yorker cartoons, the taxidermy, the embroidered pillows, the family portraits.

It all seems so sad, so unbearably sad for a second, to think of the lovely old maple with the swing. We never told the tree how much we loved it. We never gave it a name, never did anything for it.

One day when no one else was around, I went into the craft room at the back of the ground floor. I touched Gran's collection of fabrics, the shiny bright buttons, the coloured threads. My head and shoulders melted first, followed by my hips and knees. Before long I was a puddle, soaking into the pretty cotton prints. I drenched the quilt she never finished, rusted the metal parts of her sewing machine. I was pure liquid loss...

What fun we had, how beautiful we were.