Quotes About Nostalgia

After I said that, we all got quiet and sad. In the silence, I remembered this one time that I never told anybody about. The time we were walking. Just the three of us. And I was in the middle. I don't remember where we were walking to or where we were walking from. I don't even remember the season. I just remember walking between them and feeling for the first time that I belonged somewhere

I know that I brought this all on myself. I know that I deserve this. I'd do anything not to be this way. I'd do anything to make it up to everyone. And to not have to see a psychiatrist, who explains to me about being 'passive aggressive'. And to not have to take the medicine he gives me, which is too expensive for my dad. And to not have to talk about bad memories with him. Or be nostalgic about bad things.

I guess what I'm saying is that this all feels very familiar. But it's not mine to be familiar about.

So, I stood alone by the wall and watched the dance for a while. I would describe it to you, but I think it's the kind of thing where you have to be there or at least know the people. But then again, maybe you knew the same people when you went to high school dances, if you know what I mean.

Five minutes of a lifetime were truly spent and we felt young in a good way.

and in the gifted air mosquitoes, dragonflies, and tattered mute angels no one has called upon in years.

The men of Easy Company lined the rails to see the Statue of Liberty slip astern. For nearly every one of them, it was his first trip outside the United States. A certain homesickness set in, coupled with a realization, as the regimental scrapbook Currahee put it, of "how wonderful the last year had been.

she fondly remembered being caught laying out several thousand Quaaludes on the Persian rug in her bedroom in her grandmother's apartment: "She looked in and said, 'Clean this stuff up and vacuum that carpet.' I loved my grandmother.

You can never hope to recapture the first fine careless rapture

Like a Frenchman, far from home, catching a whiff of Gauloise.

Et in arcadia ego.' Why should they notice it? Its shadow will be on them soon enough and they in turn will be wagging fingers at their children and saying, 'I too once lived in arcadia, you know …' and their children will not listen either.

The service took place on one of those afternoons that occur only in the past.

I could spend thousands now on the highest end hi-fi in the world and know that, for all the wattage and purity of signal, the music would never quite touch me again as it did then from that primitive monaural system. But nor could anything quite touch me now as it did then.

Oh, to be in England, now that England's gone. This World Service, this little bakelite gateway into the world of Sidney Box, Charters and Caldecott, Mazawattee tea, Kennedy's Latin Primer and dark, glistening streets. An

Gut fand er, dass die Post gekommen war. Weniger gut fand er, dass sie aus dem Jahr 1957 stammte.

But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

High school isn't a very important place. When you're going you think it's a big deal, but when it's over nobody really thinks it was great unless they're beered up.

I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12 - Jesus, did you?

You don't have to look back to see those children; part of your mind will see them forever. They are not necessarily the best part of you, but they were once the repository of all you could become.

Sometimes when you're young, you have moments of such happiness, you think you're living on someplace magical, like Atlantis must have been. Then we grow up and our hearts break into two.

the late afternoon sunlight, warm as oil, sweet as childhood ...

I hated high school. I don't trust anybody who looks back on the years from 14 to 18 with any enjoyment. If you liked being a teenager, there's something wrong with you.

Another part of getting older: you forgot what you wanted to remember, and remembered what you wanted to forget.

That's how you know you're home, I think, no matter how far you've gone from it or how long you've been in some other place. Home is where they want you to stay longer.