Quotes About Nostalgia

I used to perform all the time but I haven't performed in New York in a very long time.

The only good thing about going to the fights is you can go into the green room and you can see some of your old friends that you haven't seen in a long time.

there was a time when these weren't memories.

Starving's not pleasant...I know for I've starved, but I'm not afraid of that. I am afraid of facing life without the slow beauty of our old world that is gone.

She could stand anything. Tara was worth it all. For a brief moment, it was mid-summer and the afternoon skies were blue and she lay drowsily in the thick clover of Tara's lawn, looking up at the billowing cloud castles, the fragrance of white blossoms in her nose and the pleasant humming of bees in her ears. Afternoon and hush and the far-off sounds of the wagons coming in from the spiraling red fields. Worth it all, worth more.

It was hard having a dead hero for a best friend.

The old dwarf drew himself up. His height was no longer impressive: the bowed back would not straighten, the legs could no longer support the body without assistance. But Drugar, towering over his father, saw the dignity in the trembling stance, the wisdom in the dimming eyes, and felt himself a child again.

The wind sings of our nostalgia and the starry sky ignores our dreams. Each snow flake is a tear that fails to trickle Silence is full of the unspoken, of deeds not performed, of confessions to secret love, and of wonders not expressed. Our truth is hidden in our silence, Yours and mine.

Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

Paradoxically, the freedom of Paris is associated with a persistent belief that nothing ever changes. Paris, they say, is the city that changes least. After an absence of twenty or thirty years, one still recognizes it. ( Tourists in Paris )

También para los recuerdos es demasiado tarde

Peste câÈ›iva ani, când te voi fi uitat si când, prin forÈ›a obiÈ™nuinÈ›ei, se vor mai petrece alte întâmpl?ri ca aceasta, îmi voi aminti de tine ca de uitarea dragostei înseÈ™i. M? voi gândi la povestea asta ca la oroarea uit?rii. O È™tiu deja - Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima dragostea mea.

También para los recuerdos es demasiado tarde. Ahora ya no les quiero. No sé si los quise. Los abandoné. Ya no guardo en mi mente el perfume de su piel ni en mis ojos el color de sus ojos. Ya no me acuerdo de la voz, salvo a veces la de la dulzura con la fatiga de la noche. Ya no oigo la risa, ni la risa ni los gritos. Se acabó, ya no lo recuerdo. [...] se ha convertido en escritura corriente.

Sólo me soporto con ese par de zapatos y aún ahora me veo así, esos tacones altos son los primeros de mi vida, son bonitos, han eclipsado a todos los zapatos que los han precedido, los zapatos para correr y jugar, planos, de lona blanca.

Loneliness does not arise so much from something lost as from a longing for something well remembered. Isolation cares nothing for memory.

If you love life you also love the past, because it is the present as it has survived in memory. Translation by David Downie

De herinnering van de meeste mensen is een verlaten kerkhof, waar de doden die ze hebben opgehouden lief te hebben eerloos terneerliggen. Elk langdurig verdriet is een aanklacht tegen hun vergetelheid.

La mémoire des femmes ressemble à ces tables anciennes dont elles se servent pour coudre. Il y a des tiroirs secrets ; il y en a, fermés depuis longtemps et qui ne peuvent s'ouvrir, il y a des fleurs séchées qui ne sont plus que de la poussière de roses ; des écheveaux emmêlés, quelquefois des épingles. La mémoire de Marie était très complaisante ; elle devait lui servir à broder son passé.

La beauté de Catherine de Mainau n'était plus qu'un souvenir ; au lieu de miroirs, elle avait dans sa chambre ses portraits d'autrefois. (p. 86)

Le sue parole avevano una sonorità lontana come se prendessero la loro ragione da un passato che si faceva futuro abolendo il presente.

Well, Gascon, I'm going to miss your long blue hair. How on earth will I find you in a crowd now?

I recognized everything, the waterfall and the lakes, the trees and paths. But they had forgotten me. That was bitter and I cried a lot. One should never return to sacred places.

that is real in our past is the love we gave and the love we received.

It felt very good to have him walking beside her. Good like rest and quiet, like something you could live without but you needed anyway. That you had to learn how to miss, and then you'd never stop missing it.