Quotes About Nostalgia

But you know, my dear," said Poirot gently, "people are never like what you remember them. You make them as the years go by, more and more the way you wish them to be, and as you think you remember them. If you want to remember them as agreeable and gay and handsome, you make than far more so than they actually were.

Miss Marple sighed. 'It seemed wonderful at first, unchanged you know, like stepping back into the past to the part of the past that one had loved and enjoyed.

One is alone when the last one who remembers is gone. I have nephews and nieces and kind friends---but there's no one who knew me as a young girl---non one who belongs to the old days. I've been alone for quite a long time now.

Volvió a mi mente una rima infantil de mi infancia - la rima de los diez soldaditos. Me había fascinado cuando era un niño de dos años - la inexorable mengua - la sensación de lo inevitable. Empecé, en secreto, a coleccionar víctimas...

one of the best things that can happen to you is, i think, a happy childhood.

My father says you remember the smell of your country no matter where you are but only recognize it when you're far away.

Jag minns att hon talade stockholmska. 'Hesten eter grönt gres.' Hon fick upprepa det; lika roligt varje gång.

Put football instead of cricket and she could have been me. She could have been Arwa, or Deena or any of the girls I grew up with here in Cairo in the Sixties. What difference do a hundred years — or a continent — make?

it was only then that I understood how longing for a place can take you over so that you can do nothing except return, as I did, return and pick at the city, scraping together bits of the place you once knew. But what do you do if you can never return?

I'm taken over by this trunk. I'm practically living inside it. When I read the journals I feel as if I'm there, a hundred years ago. I'm putting together the whole picture and I know everything that happened and wasn't written down - Amal, p. 133

I miss my Dad. My Dad loved cheesy monster movies, so we'd have Godzilla movie marathons. Those are some of my favorite memories, laughing at how the monster outfits were so bad, like black garbage bags for heads.

At the end of things we turn into historians. Sometimes happy, sometimes nostalgic, sometimes regretful or bitter, sometimes to reassure ourselves that we have amounted to something, however small. And sometimes, as I am doing now, to try with the wisdom of hindsight to make sense of ourselves.

When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.

Maybe that is the loneliest kind of memory: to be forever altered by an invisible kiss, a reminder of something long ago and crumbled, (…)

She kisses him because he is a good kisser, because he is sweet, because for the last hour she has only been here; and because he is a gentleman who wants to bring her another blanket that will smell of dust and old straw, who paid for their drinks with the only ten-pound note left in a wallet that had a strip of Velcro on it.

But now, as I recall my past works in order to write about them, the people from the past whom I had at last forgotten come to life again in my head, clamoring for attention, each one asserting his own individuality. I am at a loss. Each one is to me like a child of my own that I gave birth to and raised.

But lately tenpura-soba doesn't taste like it used to.

Later I wrote a composition that my grammar teacher Ohara Y?ichi praised as the best since the founding of Keika Middle School. But when I read it over now, it's precious and pretentious enough to make me blush.

And then what?" I asked. "Her father at last understood my feeling," claims Uekusa. "And what happened with the girl after that?" I queried. "Never saw her again, but we were just kids anyway." I think I understand and yet I don't.

If you want to recapture your youth, just cut off his allowance.

These songs are old friends I have entertained myself with when I'm washing the dishes, driving to the store and walking down the aisles. The ones that you sing when you're driving in the car and as a singer you always go back to them.

So much past inside my present. —Feist

Doesn't that look beautiful after ten years without a beer?

I dont know whether you've ever looked into a miner's eyes for any length of time, that is. Because it is the loveliest blue you've ever seen. I think perhaps that's why I live in Ibiza, because the blue of the Mediterranean, you see, reminds me of the blue of the eyes of those Doncaster miners.