Quotes About Nostalgia

I'd think of these images - people dying, a city drowning - instead of thinking about Rosemary, dying, drowning.

What fun we'd had, how beautiful we were.

His skin is warm and sandy.We intertwine our fingers and close our eyes against the sun. We just lie there.Holding hands.He rubs my palm with his thumb like he did two summers ago beneath the stars. And I melt.

I mean, when I die, throw my ashes in the water of the tiny beach. Then when you miss me, you can climb up here, look down, and think how awesome I was.

Mummy sighs. "We grew up, Dad," she says. "We grew up.

It is good to know that once upon a time, there was Gat and me.

It is good to be loved, even though it will not last. It is good to know that once upon a time, there was Gat and me.

For the old people in my family—Mummy, the aunties, Granddad—the accumulation of beautiful objects is a life goal. Whoever dies with the most stuff wins. Wins what? is what I'd like to know.

The story ended a long time ago

Es bueno que te quieran, aunque no dure. Es bueno saber que érase una vez Gat y yo.

Last night When we were young Love was a star, A song unsung, Life was so new, So real, so right, Ages ago, Last night.

I'd always wanted to believe that my ancestors were better people than they probably were. - Princess Emma

Father, it's Wistala. Wistala." Father grimaced. "You're a star, Wistala — I saw you twinkling beneath dear Irelia last night. You, Auron, and Jizara all in a row. I'll be up there soon. Wait.

Memory's one function is to help us regret

When love flies it is remembered not as love but as something else.

The past is devoid of meaning like the present, and a refuge for cowards.

Do you remember Italy?

The ethereal past had blinded him, and the highest happiness he could dream was a return to it.

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 after-life in the city of ghosts, while from others—and thus was the death of Wickham Place—the spirit slips before the body perishes . . . By September it was a corpse, void of emotion, and scarcely hallowed by the memories of thirty years of happiness.

The wonderful things are over

Here had lived an elder race, to which we look back with disquietude. The country which we visit at week-ends was really a home to it, and the graver sides of life, the deaths, the partings, the yearnings for love, have their deepest expression in the heart of the fields.

She lowered her eyes a moment to the black abyss of the past.

He filled a pipe with the tobacco that he had smoked for the last six years, and watched Romance wither.

The night received her, as it had received Miss Bartlett thirty years before.