Quotes About Nostalgia

She remembered how Billy always picked the first apple blossoms and put them into a tin cup for her. They made the house smell like springtime. Billy said apple trees were a double blessing, first for the blossoms and then the apples.

Missouri Ann ate her bit of orange slowly. Tastes like summer, she said.

La imaginé mirándolo todo como se mira lo que uno está a punto de abandonar, incluido su marido: ojos temerosos, con anticipada nostalgia...

Ella sólo quería una fotografía de su vida, como las que tenía de su padre y de su madre en su mesa de noche. Agradable, iluminada de un modo que suavice los ángulos más duros, distinguida.

You will have memories Because of what we did back then When we were new at this, Yes, we did many things, then - all Beautiful...

My platitudes don't hold their interest and I can hardly blame them for that. My real stories are all out of date. So what if I can speak firsthand about the Spanish flu, the advent of the automobile, world wars, cold wars, guerrilla wars, and Sputnik — that's all ancient history now. But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet.

It's like Charlie told the cop. For this old man, this is home.

But what else do I have to offer? Nothing happens to me anymore. That's the reality of getting old, and I guess that's really the crux of the matter. I'm not ready to be old yet. But I shouldn't complain, this being circus day and all.

Cracker Jack!

ones I had watched.

Here is a secret good thing: Sometimes I like journal writing at school because I can remind myself of things I might forget when I'm a grown-up. Like that I plan to smoke cigars. And I do not plan to get married. Cigars, yes; husband, no. What if I forget these things?

I don't want these memories to become slippery, to just disappear into the thin air of life the way most things seem to. I want them to stick – even the bad ones – so I repeat them often.

Sometimes you want to hear your own mother's voice.

This was a memory I wanted to keep, whole, and recall again and again. When I was fifty years old I wanted to remember this moment on the porch, holding hands with Cameron while he shared himself with me. I didn't want it to be something on the fringes of my memory like so many other things about Cameron and myself.

Apparently, the world was perfect in 1958.

I don't want these memories to become slippery, to disapper into the thin air of life the way most things seem to. I want them to stick- even the bad ones-so I repeat them often.

There are things I want to remember about Cameron Quick that I can't entirely, like the pajamas he wore when he used to sleep over, and his favorite cereal, or how it felt to hold his hand as we walked home from school in third grade. I want to remember exactly how we became friends in the first place, a definite starting line that I can visit again and again. He's a story I want to know from page one.

But then I see his face. See the words he wrote. See them on my computer screen. See them etched into my brain. Feel them etched into my heart. Know them deep in my soul. Remembering. Don't want to remember. Don't want to live. Tear rolls down my cheek.

because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. no matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment.

It's still a memory worth having, even if it's not exactly what you imagined.

After everything that happened, how could I miss him? But I did, I did.

It was like that part of my life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.

That first love. And the first one who breaks your heart. For me, they just happen to be the same person.

There was something so heavy about the burden of history, of the past. I wasn't sure I had it in me to keep looking back.