Quotes About Nostalgia

The book publishing business is also run by people with this affliction. They love their industry, their product, their systems, and the joy it brings them. New technologies and business systems undermine that vision, and publishers often dismiss them because of simple nostalgia. The same thing happened to Kodak and to the big accounting

Years have passed and how I am anxiously watching the twilight of my childhood, quietly sinking, never to rise again.

It was as if I were carrying around all the places I'd ever lived, and nothing I was seeing was just what it was - it was all of the places, all smooshed together. My bubble was fairly bursting by the time I got home, what with all that stuff crammed in there.

She said that room up there is a remembering room and when she is up there remembering all those things fill up the room and when the room is too full they fly out the window.

He looked upon this verdant, blossoming spring, a spring Joanna would never see, he looked upon a field of brilliant blue flowers- the bluebells Joanna had so loved- and at that moment he'd willingly have bartered all his tomorrows for but one yesterday.

I love the smell of my mother's hair after she washes it. I love the feel of the scratchy stubble on my father's face before he shaves. But I've never been able to tell them.

But I won't be doing it next year; physically I can't. This was my year, my last hurrah, my chance to complete the circle and put a few old ghosts to rest. I had something to prove. I wanted it to be the perfect finale- ten years of something I had been a part of starting.

Britain is no longer 'Thatcherite', though in the aftermath of 'Brexit', it may even be worse. The need to temper British imperial nostalgia with postcolonial responsibility has never been greater.

He broke into a run, faster and faster, until the years fell away, and he hurled himself towards Peter. And as he had never run before, as though he would outdistance time, Peter was running towards his dog. John Longridge turned away, then, and left them, an indistinguishable tangle of boy and dog, in a world of their own making.

They played the things Duff had learned while crouching under Bantam Street windows, the old songs that had been great before some of the boys were born, things never set down on paper but kept alive in places and in memories such as these.

sturdy five-foot-ten frame—but that was in another country, and alas… "What's that you've got in your hand?" he snapped at me. I glanced down at the piece of paper

Her new friends especially liked the southern phrases she recalled from her childhood, such as her father's remark that 'if I hadn't sold that Coca Cola stock I could just sit and pat my foot.

She wanted to be buried in a coffin filled with used paperbacks.

And nostalgia is a cancer. Nostalgia will fill your heart up with tumors. Yeah, yeah, yeah, that's what you are. You're just an old fart dying of terminal nostalgia.

Instead, I woke early the next morning, before sunrise, and went out into the world. I walked past my car. I stepped onto the pavement, still warm from the previous day's sun. I started walking. In bare feet, I traveled upriver toward the place where I was born and will someday die. At that moment, if you had broken open my heart you could have looked inside and seen the thin white skeletons of one thousand salmon.

At what point do we just re-create the people who have disappeared from our lives?

More and more, he heard his spine playing stick games through his skin, singing old dusty words, the words of all his years.

You're always making up stuff from the past," she said. "And the stuff you imagine is always better than the stuff that actually happened.

My mother once made a quilt from dozens of pairs of second- and third- and fourth- hand blue jeans that she bought us at Goodwill, the Salvation Army, Value Village, and garage sales. My late sister studied my mother's denim quilt and said, 'That's a lot of pants. There's been a lot of ass in those pants. This is a blanket of asses.

I loved the smell of ocean water. Salt always smells like memory.

If you want to make a white man cry, despite the amount of time it's been since he last wept aloud, then all you have to do is employ "baseball" and "father" in three consecutive sentences.

Elvis Presley is still showing up in 7-11 stores across the country, even though he's been dead for years, so I figure music just might be the most important thing there is.

I suppose, in many ways, one never stops loving the people they loved during their youth. Or hating the people they hated.

Son, things have never been like how you think they used to be.