Quotes About Nostalgia

As travel pushes me forward, memory keeps dragging me backward.

Sometimes you have to travel back in time, skirting the obstacles, in order to love someone.

They say you can't go home again, but the truth is, you have to. You have to sit still in your godforsaken living room and watch the gold sunlight coming through the blinds. You have to hear the tweeting birds and the coughing crows and face the fact that no one else is coming through the front door.

The first trip I remember taking was on the train from Virginia up to New York City, watching the summertime countryside rolling past the window. They used white linen tablecloths in the dining car in those days, and real silver. I love trains to this day. Maybe that was the beginning of my fixation with leisurely modes of travel.

Sometimes there's a tackiness about Route 66 that out-tacks any tackiness I've ever seen anywhere else. And the Meramec Caverns are the pinnacle of that tack.

To be able to put your arms around 24 years of music, it's really fun.

To re-embrace what I once loved about music has been a warming process for me, because it's a good, earned feeling now.

I miss those days, those midnight hours on the turnpike with nothing on the road but trucks and me, and nothing on my mind but the act and how I could make it funnier.

The world I once knew as a boy has changed dramatically . . . I don't even recognize the world we live in today.

Son, can you play me a memory. I'm not really sure how it goes. It was sad and it was sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man's clothes.

There is nothing in the world of art like the songs mother used to sing.

The end of all things--a book, a life, a summer, a marriage, the last bite of cake, the last of innocence lost, a love affair--is always sad, at least a little bit sad, because it is the end, the end of that.

Some people don't like to remember," Vincent said. "Not even the good things?" "Especially not the good things.

I might like to believe that every day, every hour, every minute of every hour of every day with Henry was *not* the happiest time I ever knew. I might like to believe that I am remembering it that way only because the happiest time ever makes it a better story. Because that's all you have left after people are gone from you, some things and some stories.

Except, how do we go on when what was best is behind us? When the longing is not for someone you have not yet met, but for someone you knew and lost?

That kind of empty; when hope is no longer deferred but evaporated, and try as you might, and you do try, you can't find the pleasure in the little things. A fine meal, good music, a breathtaking view of the landscape, the smell of the ocean, snow falling, it all adds up to a storehouse of memories and regrets, and you can't imagine there's a perchance left to be had.

Ever since we were little, you've always been there for me. I'm so glad we're still friends, and I bet that one day we'll be sitting side-by-side in our rocking chairs at the nursing home laughing at all of our crazy times together.

I like old things. They have an aura of the past... and I wonder whose hands have touched them. Their long histories give them depth and personality. My dream is to travel in pursuit of those histories... and find my own special place.

Music is like a drug; when you hear it, you have a vision. And that vision can change over time or remain the same. You know, that first time you're in love and you hear a love song and every time you think about it you have that vision of your special someone. And then two years later, after you broke up, you're at the bar. And you hear that song and you go, "Son of a b**ch... I'll have a Jaeger."

I've always been a fan of the melancholy, like Morrissey. I grew up playing classical nocturnes like Chopin and Debussy on piano, so I write really melancholy lyrics and melodies

When I think about the songs I might record, I ask myself, 'Can I picture anybody I know back home sitting in their truck cranking this up?'

Sometimes Across the fields of yesterday She sometimes comes to me A little girl just back from play the girl I used to be And yet she smiles so wistfully once she has crept within I wonder if she hopes to see the woman I might have been— —1933

I talk of those incidents [with Bonnie and Clyde] as if I were not a part of any of it, like a character in a book I once read. It's the only way I keep from going crazy. Maybe we were all pretty young then, but we knew what we were doing. Clyde never held a gun to my head. I was there because I wanted to be! What's that they say in the movies? 'The show must go on!' Well, life goes on.

What's my age again?