Quotes About Nostalgia

I have this thing in my brain that I just wish I lived in a different time era. And I think that's honestly just because of social media and everything, like phones and the whole shebang. I feel like relationships are more superficial.

A kind of memory that tells us that what we're now striving for was once nearer and truer and attached to us with infinite tenderness. Here all is distance, there it was breath. After the first home the second one seems draughty and strangely sexed.

Oh hours of childhood, when behind each shape more than the past appeared and what streamed out before us was not the future. We felt our bodies growing and were at times impatient to be grown up, half for the sake of those with nothing left but their grownupness.

Children are still the way you were as a child, sad and happy in just the same way--and if you think of your childhood, you once again live among them, among the solitary children.

Now we wake up with our memory and fix our gazes on that which was; whispering sweetness, which once coursed through us, sits silently beside us with loosened hair

O Stunden in der Kindheit, da hinter den Figuren mehr als nur Vergangnes war und vor uns nicht die Zukunft.

Poetry is the past that breaks out in our hearts.

Nous sommes en avant tout à fait comme des nostalgies. C'est au loin, dans des arrière-plans éclatants, qu'ont lieu nos épanouissements. C'est là que sont mouvement et volonté. C'est là que se situent les histoires dont nous sommes des titres obscurs. C'est là qu'ont lieu nos accords, nos adieux, consolation et deuil. C'est là que nous sommes, alors qu'au premier plan nous allons et venons.

Does the ore feel trapped in coins and gears? does it feel homesick for earth?

Me pregunto si estoy lo suficientemente sereno y maduro como para iniciar el diario que te quiero llevar de vuelta a casa...

ÇocukluÄŸum için niyazda bulundum, ve iÅŸte çocukluÄŸum geri geldi, ve hissediyorum ki çocukluk, evvelden nas?lsa yine öyle a??r ve hiç de fayda etmemiÅŸ yaÅŸlanmak.

They were all such a part of that other life that's dead that I can't remember them all. (Time was as I was, but neither that time nor that I are anymore.)

Free yourself from the illusion of good and bad days. Labeling time makes us nostalgic of the past and demanding of the future. There is only here and now. Let it be.

How not to miss those days when the sun was a happy companion that stayed to play all year round and kissed me a careless nut brown? When Mother caught the sweet rain in her well behind the house, and the air was so clear that the grass smelled green?

I wake up and tear drops, they fall down like rain. I put on that old song we danced to and then, I head off to my job cause not much has changed. Punch the clock, head for home, check the phone. Just in case. Go to bed, dream of you. That's what I am doing these days.

I hope you never look back but you never forget, all the ones who loved you and the place you left.

When I returned to India for the first time after years of being gone, I wondered why I remembered those small rooms as being quite large. Was it because I didn't know any better? When Charles Dickens returned to his hometown and remarked that his city had changed, someone responded that it had not changed nearly as much as he had.

A defini mirarea pentru un adult înainte de a o vedea prin ochii unul copil înseamn? a rata farmecul copil?riei. Cred c? vom descoperi c? deÈ™i copil?ria nu este o soluÈ›ie, ea este cheia pentru ajungerea la destinaÈ›ie.

Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land? I loved to smell them when I was a boy. Lord, there were a lot of lovely books once, before we let them go.

First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys.

He had never liked October. Ever since he had first lay in the autumn leaves before his grandmother's house many years ago and heard the wind and saw the empty trees. It had made him cry, without a reason. And a little of that sadness returned each year to him. It always went away with spring. But, it was a little different tonight. There was a feeling of autumn coming to last a million years. There would be no spring. (The October Game)

Sunsets are loved because they vanish. Flowers are loved because they go. The dogs of the field and the cats of the kitchen are loved because soon they must depart. These are not the sole reasons, but at the heart of morning welcomes and afternoon laughters is the promise of farewell. In the gray muzzle of an old dog we see goodbye. In the tired face of an old friend we read long journeys beyond returns.

Dandelion wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered...sealed away for opening on a January day with snow falling fast and the sun unseen for weeks...

It was September. In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.