Quotes About Nostalgia

My childhood had been a lockdown.

She pictured a dandelion gone by, the white, almost airless pieces of her family scattered so far.

And so the day they had had together folded over on itself, was done with, gone. —

and then I would think about when the girls were little, but they were somehow not always happy memories for me, because I seemed only to remember how William had been cheating on me for so many years during that time, and so what I might otherwise have thought of as a good memory was not one.

Pete's death. It felt to me as though my entire childhood had died. You might think—I would have thought—that I wanted every part of my childhood gone. But I did

I had often thought before: that there had been a last time—when they were little—that I had picked up the girls. This had often broken my heart, to realize that you never know the last time you pick up a child. Maybe you say "Oh, honey, you're getting too big to be picked up" or something like that. But then you never pick them up again.

And thinking of this now made me think of something I had often thought before: that there had been a last time - when they were little - that I had picked up the girls. This had often broken my heart, to realize that you never know the last time you pick up a child. Maybe you say "Oh honey, you're getting too big to be picked up" or something like that. But then you never pick them up again.

don't you make pancakes?" It was a family custom to have pancakes

And as time went by, the idea of seeing the girls that way again was almost as bad as not seeing them at all.

Of all cold words of tongue or penThe worst are these: "I knew him when—"

nostalgia. Jacobitism reflected a nostalgic yearning for a traditional social order in which everyone supposedly knew his or her preordained place and stayed in it. It satisfied a deep utopian longing for the perfect society—except that it looked backwards, rather than ahead, for its model of perfection.

I long for Europe of the ancient parapets.

J'aimais les peintures idiotes, dessus de portes, décors, toiles de saltimbanques, enseignes, enluminures populaires ; la littérature démodée, latin d'église, livres érotiques sans orthographe, romans de nos aïeules, contes de fées, petits livres de l'enfance, opéras vieux, refrains niais, rythmes naïfs.

Ce soir-là, . . . vous rentrez aux cafés éclatants, Vous demandez des bocks ou de la limonade . . . On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans Et qu'on a des tilleuls verts sur la promenade.

O vento Sul me fez lembrar miseráveis incidentes de infância, meus desesperos de verão, a horrível quantidade de força e de ciência que o destino sempre afastou de mim. Não! não passaremos o verão neste país mesquinho onde nada mais seremos que noivos órfãos. Quero que este braço teso não arraste mais uma imagem querida.

Nos hacemos fotos, no con el objeto de recordar, sino para completarlas después con el resto de nuestras vidas. Por eso hay fotos que aciertan y fotos que no. Imágenes que el tiempo pone en su lugar, atribuyendo a unas su auténtico significado, y negando otras que se apagan solas, igual que si los colores se borraran con el tiempo.

It seemed to Don Jaime that you could find in the memory of every man the bittersweet shadow of a woman.

Estoy convencida de que cada edificio, cada cuadro, cada libro antiguo que se destruye o se pierde, nos hace un poco más huérfanos. Nos empobrece.

Y no echas de menos el campo? ¿Correr por ahí tras un conejo? Sonrió, melancólico. —Lo que echo de menos es mi juventud. Ser cachorro o perro joven creyendo que el mundo es tuyo.

Irremediablemente, él nota el regusto de melancolía. De pronto los recuerdos acuden atropellándose: palabras breves como gemidos deslizándose por una piel desnuda, escorzo de líneas largas y suaves reflejadas sobre un espejo que multiplicaba el gris de afuera, en el contraluz plomizo de una ventana que, como un cuadro francés de primeros de siglo, enmarcaba palmeras mojadas, mar y lluvia.

Te acuerdas de la María Fernanda? Asiente Raposo, guasón. —Nos acordamos yo y media España.

One is never alone with a book nearby, don't you agree? Every page reminds us of a day that has passed and makes us relive the emotions that filled it. Happy hours underlined in red pencil, dark ones in black...

I kissed my first girl and smoked my first cigarette on the same day. I haven't had time for tobacco since.

But the places we come from don't leave us as easily as we leave them.