Quotes About Nostalgia

I don't know why it is, but I just love soul music and all that old country stuff. I guess somehow my heart mixed them both together as I made my albums.

What I want to do is, I want to put together a nice list of those guys who I really did admire when I was growing up, listening to names like Lord Finesse.

Well, I went to school with Jan and Dean, Ryan O'Neal, some of the Beach Boys we all use to party together.

'Iggy' was my dog - he was named after Iggy Pop - and 'Azalea' is the street where I grew up; together, they have the right amount of syllables to make the perfect name.

Ozzy wanted to get us back together. It's been 20 years. We did a couple of songs during his farewell in 1992 and that got the ball rolling.

Don't forget, Riddler, how I love thee. Or all we shared together. Or that this sea and all other seas can lead you back to me.

His smile brought back the best times, sweet memories of nights together... stirring up those old feelings that got me thinkin' bout forever.

There must be some deep psychological reason why we turn so instinctively toward home at this special time. . . . A place where every day will be Christmas, with everybody there together. At home.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and wished herself back to that previous occasion when Robert had first kissed her and told her that he loved her. If only they could go back, wipe out the intervening years. If only she could change the way he was, make him become permanently what he had seemed to be then.

She would spend the rest of her life wondering about him . . . She would wonder if he ever thought of her . . .

It is stronge how smells can bring back vivid memories.

It would be so easy to forget, so easy to be enticed by an old dream.

She found that she particularly hugged to herself the memories of the brief physical contacts they had shared.

I asked on my Facebook page recently how many people are rereaders and was surprised that the overwhelming majority of those who answered are. So am I. There is something very comforting about meeting old friends again within the pages of a loved book. It's a bit like coming home.

She was achingly conscious, as he escorted her as usual to the door of her room, that this was the last time she would be with him like this.

She remembered—oh, she could not stop remembering.

He grinned suddenly and her heart somersaulted—he looked so very like that exuberant boy of her memories.

She raised her eyes to his. To the golden boy who had lit her world for a couple of months one springtime long ago—so little happiness to occupy the space of twenty-eight years.

Soon she would know him only in memory. Soon she would lose him.

There is a feeling of warmth and safety associated with her memory. I believe I spent the rest of my childhood missing her.

In a few more days, Christina thought . . . this would all be over . . . She would try to recall how he had looked, how he had sounded, what he had said. He would be gone.

For there was no more friendship and never would be again.

Let us enjoy it, he said, his eyes looking directly into hers. We are both in need of some good memories, I believe.

But she had smiled and reached out her hands for his—had he held his own out first? He could not remember. All the world had been reaching out to him, and he had taken her hands in his and known he was at home again.