Quotes About Nostalgia

These feet won't bear the woman Up the steep steps as lightheartedly They did the skipping child long years ago.

Alas that the friend of my youth* has gone—alas that I ever knew her. I might say to myself, you are a fool, you are searching for something which is not to be found on earth. But I found her, I felt the heart and the generous soul of her in whose presence I felt myself to be more than I was because I was everything I could be.

Reda-mi atunci acele timpuri Cand insumi mai eram in devenire, Cand un izvor nastea fara-ncetare Cantari atatea, de iubire, Cand negura-nvalea taramul Si-un mugur promitea minuni, Cand flori rupeam prin vai o mie Si le-azvarleam dupa lastuni. N-aveam nimic si totusi multe, Placeri gaseam in amagire, Porniri spre adevar inalt. Reda-mi adanca fericire, Reda-mi iubirea, chinul, ura, Cu tinerete laolalt'!

Ihr naht euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten, Die früh sich einst dem trüben Blick gezeigt. Versuch ich wohl, euch diesmal festzuhalten? Fühl ich mein Herz noch jenem Wahn geneigt? Ihr drängt euch zu! nun gut, so mögt ihr walten, Wie ihr aus Dunst und Nebel um mich steigt; Mein Busen fühlt sich jugendlich erschüttert Vom Zauberhauch, der euren Zug umwittert.

She could not help recalling the bustling which had attended Eduard's celebration of her own birthday, she could not help thinking of the newly erected pavilion under whose roof they had promised themselves so much pleasure. The fireworks exploded again before her eyes and in her ears; the lonelier she was, the more she lived in imagination; yet the more she lived in imagination, the more alone she felt. She leaned upon his arm no more, and had no hope of ever being able to lean on it again.

The year is dying. The wind blows across the stubble and finds there is nothing left for it to shake. Only the red berries on their slender trees still seem to want to remind us of something merrier and the beat of the thresher awakens in us the thought of how much life and nourishment lies hidden in the cut-down ear of corn.

Minden, minden elmúlt! Semmi jele annak a volt világnak, egyetlen szívdobbanás sem maradt akkori érzéseimb?l. Mintha kísértet volnék, amely visszatér kiégett, romos kastélyába, dús fejedelem korában maga építette, tündökl?n fölékesített palotájába, amelyet haldoklásában is reménnyel telve hagyott szeretett fiára.

Because I would rather be with my grandfather on Alp than anywhere on earth.

After you've lived in Paris for a while, you don't want to live anywhere, including Paris.

The genius of Cornell is that he sees and enables us to see with the eyes of childhood, before our vision got clouded by experience, when objects like a rubber ball or a pocket mirror seemed charged with meaning, and a marble rolling across a wooden floor could be as portentous as a passing comet.

It was always November there.

Should people who fall in love for the first time be made to wear badges? The answer, of course, is yes although I will not go into all the reasons. One or two will suffice. The wearing of a love badge might remind crusty and intolerant old fogies that they too were in love and it might make us all more tolerant of a disorder from which no one at all is immune.

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

I guard my memories of my lost one jealously, keep them securely under wraps, like a folio of delicate watercolours that must be protected from the harsh light of day.

He held the book up to his nose. It smelled like Old Spice talcum powder. Books that smelled that way were usually fun to read. He threw the book onto his bed and went to his suitcase. After rummaging about for awhile, he came up with a long, narrow box of chocolate-covered mints. He loved to eat candy while he read, and lots of his favorite books at home had brown smudges on the corners of the pages.

Who does not know what it is like to go with a friend to a railway station and then to watch the train take them away? As you walk along the platform back into the city, the person who has just gone is often more there, more totally there, than when you embraced them before they climbed into the train. When we embrace to say goodbye, maybe we do it for this reason—to take into our arms what we want to keep when they've gone.

Your lips, beloved, are like a honeycomb: honey and milk are under the tongue. And the smell of your clothes is like the smell of my home.

I myself walked at the funeral of tenderness.

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.He staggered—and, terrible-eyed,He brushed past the palms on the staircaseAnd was helped to a hansom outside.

And though I'm happy now sitting in Hampstead High Street in the sunshine, the happiness of the memory is a different kind of happiness, the happiness of youth, the happiness of an infinite amount of possibilities.

Whether the nostalgia of the Edsel boys for the Edsel runs to the humorous or to the tragic, it is a thought-provoking phenomenon. Maybe it means merely that they miss the limelight they first basked in and later squirmed in, or maybe it means that a time has come when—as in Elizabethan drama but seldom before in American business—failure can have a certain grandeur that success never knows.

O sad, sad hills! O cold, cold hearth! In sorrow he learned this truth — One may return to the place of his birth, He cannot go back to his youth.

To old times, May they never come again...' 'Old time past and better times to come!

Fifty percent of the people in the world are homesick all the time.