Quotes About Nostalgia

Polish sausage is going for peanuts in Cracow,' Milo informed him. 'polish sausage', sighed the general nostalgically. 'You know, I'd give just about anything for a good hunk of Polish sausage. Just about anything.

Why should looking through a square hole, at yellow pasteboard, lift anybody into the seventh heaven of happiness at any time of life? Why should it specially do so at that time of life? That is the psychological fact that you have to explain; and I have never seen any sort of rational explanation.6 Elsewhere Chesterton

As for this present unhappy time, haunted by ghosts from a dead world and not yet at home in its own, its predicament is not unlike the predicament of the adolescent who has not yet learned to orient himself without reference to the mythology amid which his childhood was passed.

And she just wants everyone to remember -please remember- that once there was a darkly sparkling, glittering, shimmering, lovely dangerous time in this city when Aqua loved Jack. And Jack loved Aqua. And I loved Jack. And Jack loved me. And boys will be boys. And boys will be girls. And sometimes the show can't go on.

I've always thought that one of the signs of true adulthood is when you realize that you spend each Christmas trying to relive childhood memories that never really happened in the first place.

Love of ruins for an architect, he claimed, was quite natural, at least after a long career.

It is good to know, no matter how long I am gone...you do not grow up too much.

something echoes all forgotten dreams

The Poem I Just Wrote The poem I just wrote is not real. And neither is the black horse who is grazing on my belly. And neither are the ghosts of old lovers who smile at me from the jukebox.

Memories are strange things. Without being something I can hold in my hand, they wield a beguiling power over me. Like a mirage in the noontime heat of summer they dance before my inner eyes and beckon me to find water where there is no water.

This was before voice mail, recorded phone messages you can't escape. Life was easier then. You just didn't pick up the phone.

Great handfuls of her life were being stolen from her and she would never be able to retrieve them.

Josiah feel that, for a moment, he'd been cast back to his adolescent self on this very campus: essentially, a claustrophobic little world of privilege and anxiety in which one was made to care too much about too little.

Laughter too depends upon memory—a memory of previous laughter. Dr.

First marriage, and nothing so sweet! You don't know it at the time.

Hospital vigils inspire us to such nostalgia. Hospital vigils take place in slow-time during which the mind floats free, a frail balloon drifting into the sky as into infinity.

Being a grand-kid, you can so easily regress. All the ages you ever were are all recalled by the grandparent in a shimmery love-haze, like those blurred faces on tv, in which identities have been disguised.

The best part of being a nanny, Katya thought, was reading children's books aloud to enraptured children like Tricia, for no one had read such books aloud to her when she'd been a little girl. There hadn't been such books in the Spivak household on County Line Road, nor would there have been any time for such interludes.

Her favorite foods made her gag, like old friends she hadn't seen in years turning up looking all wrong.

My crappy-kid's life. It was mostly a shitty life wasn't it, OK but I miss it.

No se puede ejercer la memoria hasta que uno se ha retirado de la fuente del recuerdo.

Mother's bread crumb stuffing was particularly delicious this year, made with apples, prunes, chestnuts, thyme, tarragon, fine-cut onions and celery. In the lush salad of many gourmet greens were tiny sections of clementines, dried cranberries, chopped escarole, cherry tomatoes from Mexico. The mashed sweet potatoes were (secretly) laced with marshmallow—one of Mother's prized family recipes.

you've glanced at me, and through me, dear Dr. K——, upon more than one recent occasion, no more recognizing your Angel than you would have recognized a plate heaped with food you'd devoured twenty-three years ago with a zestful appetite

A mí me resultaba fascinante oír a mi hermano mayor hablando a nuestro padre como un niño, como yo, que tenía diez años. Se me ocurrió una cosa: «¿Nunca nos hacemos mayores?». Por alguna extraña razón, eso me consolaba.