Quotes About Nostalgia

How many things pass through time randomly detached from the bodies and voices of persons. My mother knew the art of making clothes last forever.

Com'era friabile il passato, franava di continuo, le veniva addosso.

I feel no nostalgia for our childhood: it was full of violence.

Ã…Ëœíct znamená spoutat ztracené ?asy a prostory.

y a veces, al notarla tan feliz, me asaltó una nostalgia genuina por un tiempo que, no obstante, consideraba pasado para siempre y mal desenterrado por su fantasía en exceso afectuosa.

Nu am nostalgia copilariei noastre, e plina de violenta. Ni se intamplau de toate, in casa si in afara ei, in fiecare zi, dar nu-mi amintesc sa fi crezut vreodata ca viata care ni se oferise era foarte urata. Viata era asa fi gata , cresteam cu obligatia de a le-o face dificila celorlalti inainte ca ei sa ne-o faca dificila noua.

an old photograph of my sisters and me with our father. The photograph was ruined. Those images of us from so long ago were yellowed, cracked, like the figures of winged demons in certain altarpieces that the faithful have defaced with pointed objects.

I feel no nostalgia for our childhood: it was full of violence. Every sort of thing happened, at home and outside, every day, but I don't recall having ever thought that the life we had there was particularly bad. Life was like that, that's all, we grew up with the duty to make it difficult for others before they made it difficult for us.

El pasado ofrecía el encanto de lo irrecuperable. Lo perdido se convierte en algo precioso, en algo apenas entrevisto, evocado casi a voluntad, en la esencia más pura del presente.

Love strengthens the fabric of memory.

En el baldío de la calle y en el baldío del corazón, ni quien preguntara por los idos.

For this I weep all my days and throughout my lifetime grieve that I swam from my own lands and came from familiar lands towards these strange doors to these foreign gates.

That is my major preoccupation --memory, the kingdom of memory. I want to protect and enrich that kingdom, glorify that kingdom and serve it.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry, too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment. Elle pleure. Il pleure. Ils pleurent, tous les deux.

I had a slab of German chocolate cake the size of a child's tombstone. Ralph

Harvard Square looked both new and familiar. I felt like I would have been able to tell just from looking that this configuration of buildings and streets was familiar and meaningful to lots of people, not just me. It was weird to visit a suburb that nobody else every visited or went to, and then to return to these widely known halls and buildings where famous statesmen and writers and scientists had been coming for hundreds of years.

There are certain books that one remembers together with the material circumstances of reading: how long it took, the time of year, the color of the cover.

You're always sad when you leave Rome," he said at some point. "You're always depressed until you go back.

Riley made me a tape of her Fiona Apple album.

There is this way that I felt when I was younger that we were beyond history and we were all citizens of the world that now seems so naive.

Microsoft Word was for kids, but the typewriter was God, the desk shook with each keystroke.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry, too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment. Elle pleure. Il pleure. Ils pleurent, tous les deux.

I just can't imagine it. I can't imagine you on the other side of the world, at a pay phone on the street.

It can be really exasperating to look back at your past. What's the matter with you? I want to ask her, my younger self, shaking her shoulder. If I did that, she would probably cry. Maybe I would cry too. It would be like one of those Marguerite Duras books I tried to read in Svetlana's aunt's apartment.