Quotes About Nostalgia

Where are the snows of yesteryear?

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe. She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives who used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.

The same day, he took Sara out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes—clothes so grand and rich that only a very young and inexperienced man would have bought them for a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a boarding-school. But the fact was that he was a rash, innocent young man, and very sad at the thought of parting with his little girl, who was all he had left to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had dearly loved.

To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his own language so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were in his native land - which on dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemed worlds away.

So taking it, she stood among the dried, withered things and looked in tender regret at them.

They all agree, Italy is not what it used to be. What is? All my adult life I've heard how Silicon Valley used to be all orchards, how Atlanta used to be genteel, how publishing used to be run by gentlemen, how houses used to cost what a car costs now. All true, but what can you do but live now?

And my mother, whose radius of travel was short, tied the letters with ribbon and kept them in her desk, When you get the chance, she said to me, go.

Images are the pegs holding down memory's billowing tent.

Now I find the stack of chapters I called Under Magnolia. Why, after many years, even open these flowered folders? Dare alla luce, the Tuscans say at the birth of a baby, to give to the light.

Used to have a pet turtle named George.

Much about home is imagining home

The South I knew didn't transcend. I wanted out of there. No future I imagined took place below the southern fall line. "She took the first thing smoking on the runway out of here," my family is fond of remembering. But they forget; there was no runway.

What's really weird is my mom's clothes smell like her. I mean, her perfume, and so all day it's like m mom has been walking right beside me. Which, you have to admit, a pretty freaky feeling.

You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my 'Hollywood in Miniature,' my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up.

Ugster vinyl pumps, Partridge Family records, plastic daisy jewelry, old postcards. . . . It's a magpie Christmas market.

What are you going to do if you find art, Pen? You going to steal some and put it in the van? I'm going to remember. When there was art.

Weetzie could not even cry and make Kleenex roses. She remembered the day her father, Charlie, had driven away in the smashed yellow T-bird, leaving her mother Brandy-Lynn clutching her flowered robe with one hand and an empty glass in the other, and leaving Weetzie holding her arms crossed over her chest that was taking its time to develope into anything

The homes of so many skeletons. People who used to fight over the last blueberry muffin at the breakfast table, get down on their knees to scrub bathroom floors, and kiss one another good night, thinking they were at least relatively safe. Now they are just dust in the debris.

walk forwards in the radiance of the past

That must have been a ballroom once," she said, as she glanced back at the conference–cum–dining room. For an instant she could imagine it: Women dressed like Anna Karenina. Hussars and diplomats. Candlelight softening the lines on their faces. "And this used to be a garden," Michael added. "Like Stalin's world used to be Russia. It's only going to get drabber.

Sometimes only in retrospect do we realize that we have wasted our best years looking for a lost, inappropriate first love, that our life-changing passion for a particular person was no more than the desire to finally kiss the crooked lower lip of an elementary school principal or the boy on whom we had an unrequited childhood crush.

e continuiamo a remare, barche contro corrente, risospinti senza posa nel passato.

No voy a pedir que me quieras siempre como ahora, pero si te pido que lo recuerdes.

Ve?ina nas ima svoje omiljeno, herojsko razdoblje života; ovo je bilo Diverovo.