Quotes About Nostalgia

I knew it: the glittering crystal of all the good times we'd had, which had been sleeping in the depths of memory, was awakening and would keep us going. Like a blast of fresh wind, the richly perfumed breath of those days returned to my soul.

Tutte le cose di questo mondo un giorno non ci saranno più, e non importa quanta voglia avremo di andare: non si potrà più andare. E allora in questa vita voglio accumulare tantissimi ricordi.

I had never cried this way in my life. As the hot tears poured out, I remembered that I had never had a proper cry over my grandmother's death. I had a feeling that I wasn't crying over any one sad thing, but rather for many.

the familiar and nostalgic colors and smells, tastes, and places in our memories.

I knew it: the glittering crystal of all the good times we'd had, which had been sleeping in the depths of memory, was awakening and would keep us going. Like a blast of fresh wind, the rich perfumed breath of those days returned to my soul.

More family memories.

Truly happy memories always live on, shining. Over time, one by one, they come back to life.

It was so gorgeous it almost felt like sadness.

This world of ours is piled high with farewells and goodbyes of so many different kinds, like the evening sky renewing itself again and again from one instant to the next-and I didn't want to forget a single one.

We ran into lots of old friends. Friends from elementary school, junior high school, high school. Everyone had matured in their own way, and even as we stood face to face with them they seemed like people from dreams, sudden glimpses through the fences of our tangled memories. We smiled and waved, exchanged a few words, and then walked on in our separate directions.

The past is just such a retreat for me, I go there eagerly, rubbing my hands and shaking off the cold present and the colder future. And yet, what existence, really, does it have, the past? After all, it is only what the present was, once, the present that is gone, no more than that.

What is it about the past? I can never understand it. Why is it so powerful? Why does it appeal to us as if it had some extraordinary pearl of meaning that we can't find in our present lives?

The sorrow of war inside a soldier's heart was in a strange way similar to the sorrow of love. It was a kind of nostalgia, like the immense sadness of a world at dusk. It was a daness, a missing, a pain which could send one soaring back into the past. The sorrow of the battlefield could not normally be pinpointed to one particular event, or even one person. If you focused on any one event it would soon become a tearing pain.

I miss Saturday morning, rolling out of bed, not shaving, getting into my car with my girls, driving to the supermarket, squeezing the fruit, getting my car washed, taking walks.

All the lovely things I've known have disappeared.

I married the first man I ever kissed. When I tell this to my children they just about throw up.

Quilts are more than something to keep you warm. They give women a way to express themselves creatively.I like the way that you're using pieces of your children's outgrown clothing to make this quilt. It already has memories built in it that way, don't you think?

We didn't need sex. We had Tyrone Power.

She came to a little wrecked pleasure-steamer, which had become embedded in the mud several summers ago and which no one had bothered to remove. It had been a vulgar, tubby little boat when it used to steam through the water with its handful of holiday-makers, giving shrill whistles at every bend and causing a wash that disturbed the fishermen as they sat peacefully on the banks; but, now it lay sideways in the mud with its gaudy paint all bleached, it was almost beautiful.

Everywhere in the house there were sad little reminders—a limp string shopping-bag hanging from the kitchen door; a fortune-telling book in the dresser-drawer; a fern in the dining-room window that had died from neglect since she had ceased to tend it; and one small black glove mixed up with the string she used to save—little things like that were everywhere.

Still there were times, as Jill whirled through her final preparations, when Emily stood watching her, wondering where the years had gone, wishing them back.

Susan could feel his anguish radiating through the fingers that held hers so tightly. She was close enough to him to know what he was feeling far more than fear for his mother's life. He hadn't seen the woman in fifteen years. At that moment, he was deeply regretting the separation.

Mothers and daughters share a special bond." "I never knew how special until it wasn't there anymore. I'm twenty-seven, and when something good or bad happens in my life, I still wonder what my mom would think. I've lived more of my life without her than with her, but it still matters.

Today was a day for remembering only the good. And there had been a lot of good.