Quotes About Nostalgia

He tells me that he knows Max from freshman year—roughly twenty years—and I remember that a huge number of Oberlin friends are here and ask what bonds them all for life. He says No one else will be friends with us.

In the cab to the station, he told me that when he was growing up he'd see a look of pleasure cross his mother's face and ask what she was thinking; she'd say, I was just thinking of your father. "That's how I want us to be," Archie said. I smiled. "What?" I said, "I was just thinking of your father.

Maybe she'd been drinking too much of the super-sweet Mexican Coca-Cola they had down here. Or maybe she was just tired, alone, and far from home. Because somewhere in the brittle, concrete center of Azrael's dark heart, something was melting.

Do you ever sense a little silver sliver of sadness around your happiest memories? I'm not sure I know what you mean... I do. There's something about remembering that just isn't the same as the real thing. No matter how happy it makes you feel. When you remember something, you have to recognize that the moment will never happen again.

She still loved him, she would always love him, but it was the kind of love that was muted, safely seen through the rear-view window, like a place you used to call home but no longer visited. There would always be a wound there, but the healing had begun.

Too bad there wasn't a Valencia filter to smooth out memories.

If I could go back to my girlhood and its freedom, I would. But that's never possible: life pushes us forward, into more complications than we ever imagined as children.

I got to Versailles, my blissfully simple country childhood would be over.

Yes. I remember." His voice had deepened. I remember. Mina did, too, every conversation they'd had over breakfast, and it made her heart ache. Such a strange thing... She suddenly couldn't laugh anymore.

And even though she could remember most of the sentences and every plot point, the story would never be what it had been. She would never again be who she'd been.

I hate getting old. Why can't we all stay twenty until the end, then just fall over

As usual she was in the library, curled up with her back against his stomach, sitting on his folded legs. It was very comforting to be there. The thing was, it was also beginning to feel a great deal like an embrace. Not that she'd had a lot of experience with embraces. Once in a while as a child she had gotten a hug from someone, though not for a long while now. But- This definitely felt like an embrace. It felt wonderful, in fact. Was that wrong?

How often do you think of all those people who you were never going to forgrt?

His youth had been so long ago that he could remember nothing of it but he presumed, erroneously, that he had tasted the purple fruit, had broken hearts and hymens, had tosses flowers to ladies on balconies, had drunk champagne out of their shoes and generally been irresistible.

He watched her almost with indifference -for it was all in the past-and even the present was nothing to the pride of his memory.

Poem Out of the overlapping Leaves of my brain came tapping… Tapping… a voice that is not mine alone: Nor can the woodpecker Claim it as his own: the flicker Deep in the foliage belongs to neither Birds, men or dreams. It is as far away as childhood seems.

Funny, how once you touched off a memory, it was like pulling out a stitch—all the others kept unraveling

And just as it is with all proper grannies, she ordered me into my pink bunny jammies.

It was an unsettling thought, that somehow we were sliding back into the smoky dark and that never again would man make something so perfect as this small building.

All gone now, just memory is left, and memories fade. But the joy is bedded in the memory

Eu ama Ceinwyn demais. Mesmo agora, anos depois, sorria ao pensar nela, e algumas vezes acordo de noite com lágrimas no rosto e sei que se devem a ela.

And in the darkness, as I listen to the sea beat on the sand and the wind fret at the thatch, I remember what it was like to be young and tall and strong and fast. And arrogant.

Where a boy runs he never forgets.

Obwohl Ollowain die Burg schon hunderte Male gesehen hatte, berührte ihr Anblick ihn stets aufs Neue. Es war ein Gefühl, wie es sonst nur Musik in ihm erwecken konnte, das traurige Lied einer Flöte vielleicht oder melancholisches Harfenspiel. Ein Schmerz, der sich nicht in Worte fassen ließ, süß und durchdringend.