Quotes About Nostalgia

I never met a teddy I didn't like.

But tears are an indulgence. Memory sings.

Alive to the loving past She conjures her own. Nothing is wholly lost— Sun on the stone. And lilacs in their splendor Like lost friends Come back through grief to tell her Love never ends.

and Andy, gloomy and self-devouring, sat at his desk and chewed the cud of memory.

Happy the man who can long roaming reap, Like old Ulysses when he shaped his course Homeward at last toward the native source, Seasoned and stretched to plant his dreaming deep.

photographs freeze the current of life.

one can never leave home...one carries the shadows, the dreams, the dragons of home under one's skin, at the extreme corners of one's eyes...

Thomas Wolfe warned in the title of America's great novel that you can't go home again. I enjoyed the book but I never agreed with the title. I believe that one can never leave home. I believe that one carries the shadows, the dreams, the fears and dragons of home under one's skin, at the extreme corners of one's eyes and possibly in the gristle of the earlobe.

Maya Angelou @DrMayaAngelou Our Summer's gone The golden days are through The rosy dawn I used to wait with you Has turned to gray My life has turned to blue.- Maya Angelou's poem with Nancy Wilson's song My Life Has Turned To Blue. We send our deepest condolences to the family of #NancyWilson

we drove up to the three-shaded house

When you come to me, unbidden, Beckoning me To long-ago rooms, Where memories lie. Offering me, as to a child, an attic, Gatherings of days too few

Baby, the fifties are everything you've been meaning to be.

And I have soldier dolls! My uncle Garrett bough them for me.

Only the memories.

IN THE SECOND GRADE, WHEN YOU ARE A BOY WHO LIKES A GIRL, YOU GIVE HER YOUR BEST POKEMON CARD. OR YOU PULL HER HAIR. NOT HARD ENOUGH TO MAKE HER CRY, THOUGH. OR YOU CAN ASK TO HER ROLLERSKATE BACKWARDS WITH YOU, AND THEN HOLD HER HAND SO SHE DOESN'T FALL DOWN.

Good bye AEHS. You suck. I hate you. And yet... Somehow I'll miss you too.

while toasting] To blow jobs we want back

I had the loveliest pony when I was your age. I called him Zip. He ate apples straight out of my hand. I'm deathly allergic to horse hair, of course, and wept buckets of tears every time he was near, but it was worth it. I loved him so.

To pass time, I concentrated on pleasant memories, laying them out in order and examining them carefully.

It is why I hope that if I make it to eighty-something I have the good sense not to pull out those old CDs. My heart, by then, surely would not be able to keep from imploding. My heart, back then, stayed in one piece only because, as bursting with anticipation as it was, it had not yet been strained by nostalgia. It had not yet figured out that life is mostly an exercise in being something other than what we used to be while remaining fundamentally - and sometimes maddeningly - who we are.

He cried in Toy Story 3, bawled. It was sweet and I liked him like that.

Memories did that to you. They glorified the past until the real thing was often a letdown, making you wonder why you had craved it so assiduously in the first place.

I tried to avoid Mimi. Her presence seemed to call forth every rejection I'd ever experienced--the teachers who'd looked at me as though I held no promise, the boys who didn't like me back. Around her, I became fourteen again.

By late August, I'm on my second sublet, and I've been working as a copywriter long enough to know I'm not good at it. I seem to be reliving the life I had when I was twenty-two, but I'm about to run twenty-eight, which feels like the opposite of twenty-two.