Quotes About Nostalgia

Let's get lunch at Aunt Carrie's. She looked away, trying to hide her vivid memories of the outdoor café. She and Alex had gone there as kids, sunburnt, their hair stiff with salt and their bare feet, to eat clam cakes and blueberry pie.

When she was a girl, Natalie used to start each day by skipping through the shop, calling good morning to her favorites as she passed them---Angelina Ballerina, Charlotte and Ramona, Lilly and her purple plastic purse.

How'm I doing, Mamma? Celesta, twenty years gone, would undoubtedly approve. The restaurant smelled like the kitchen of Rosa's childhood; the menu featured many of the dishes Celesta had once prepared with warmth, intense flavors and a certain uncomplicated contentment Rosa constantly tried to recapture. She wanted the restaurant to serve Italian comfort food, the kind that fed hidden hungers and left people full of fond remembrances.

The girls used to play together in Portsmouth Square, surrounded by Chinese grannies sipping their milk tea and playing board games. They'd snack on soft buns filled with sweet coconut, and when it rained, they'd dunk into the curio shops or the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory, their senses dazzled by the delicious, sugary aroma.

For the rest of the night he sat by himself under the elm-tree. Until this moment it had never seemed to him that his magicianship set him apart from other men. But now he had glimpsed the wrong side of something. He had the eeriest feeling - as if the world were growing older around him, and the best part of existence - laughter, love and innocence - were slipping irrevocably into the past.

When he returned to the

bread pudding that Rosie had

Where would we be without it, memory? Well, it'll never die here. Never in this country. We feed it too well.

A romantic refuses to see the changes in people he loves, or in cities which hold amorous memories for him.

It isn't that nothing is left. It is that what remains is such an old sad ghost of the thing that used to be, and he can't bear lying down with the vestiges.

Vintage books, old china, antiques; maybe I love old things so much because I feel impermanent myself.

He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.

I dug out the powder blue cashmere cardigan my mother Lisa gave me the Christmas before last, pulled on my oldest, softest Levi's. Comfort clothes; the next best thing to a hug from a warm, living body. Lately there had been a shortage of hugs in my life. Lately there had been a shortage of warm, living bodies.

If you want. It's not really your kind of thing," Perry said. "It's a snow globe. You know, a big old house and lots of Vermont snow. I thought it might remind you of me." "I don't need a snow globe to remind me of you," Nick said, which was probably the most romantic thing he had ever heard himself say. It made him blush.

He smelled familiar. Not the dèjà vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow - or wanting back something you should never have given away.

He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like... the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.

There, long forgotten by me, were several glass-front cases loaded with books. I dropped the broom and approached slowly, my pulse quickening in excitement known only to book lovers in the advanced stage of addiction.

Not worried about the decor, Brandt. Seriously. Just find us some place where no one you knew from the good old days is going to walk in on us." "The Black Bear Inn it is," Will said (...) "For the record, those weren't the good old days. These days with you, these are the good old days. Right now.

How the hell could you be homesick for a place that had never been home?

That's something I missed, lying in bed listening to the rain with someone I loved. That's something I missed, having someone I loved.

New York has got this sort of wonderful romantic idea of the South.

Wrap parties can be really sad, actually, disorienting.

Sometimes you waited at home in your room so demobilized into quiet that you could just about feel the maskingtape losing its stick and your mortifying teenaged posters of American moviestars who were 50% Jewish and Argentinian-German models who were 100% hot, Uri Malmilian (the football striker), Uri Geller (the mentalist), and Ha'Tzanchanim (the Paratroopers), peeling slowly from the walls.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief. Aeschylus