Quotes About Nostalgia

Yet the one I think of most often_¨

Neighborhood What do I care that they're tearing down the nice old houses and putting up brutal ones? Before very long, I'll be just a breeze blowing around town, trying to avoid all the wind chimes.

But having sailed some time ago Into the quiet cardigan harbour of my life," (42)

So before we end and then begin We'll drink a toast to how it's been A few more hours to be complete A few more nights on satin sheets A few more times that I can say I've loved these days

He no longer loves the person whom he loved ten years ago. I quite believe it. She is no longer the same, nor is he. He was young, and she also; she is quite different. He would perhaps love her yet, if she were what she was then.

Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past I know every scene by heart, they all went by so fast

Last night I danced with a stranger, but she just reminded me you were the one.

I was lingering out on the pavement. There was a missing person inside of myself and I needed to find him . . . I felt done for, an empty burned-out wreck . . . Wherever I am, I'm a '60s troubadour, a folk-rock relic, a wordsmith from bygone days, a fictitious head of state from a place nobody knows.

Remembrance of things past, I do that all the time.

I wanna say hello to all the ex-hippies tonight. I've never been a hippie myself but I'm an honorary hippie.

My grandfather was a duck trapper He could do it with just dragnets and ropes My grandmother could sew new dresses out of old cloth I don't know if they had any dreams or hopes I had 'em once though, I suppose, to go along With all the ring-dancin' Christmas carols on all of the Christmas eves I left all my dreams and hopes Buried under tobacco leaves

I once loved a woman, a child I am told

Old soldiers loved to tell war stories, yet this guy had hung up on her.

And how could she ever open her mouth to tell him, in the guise of reminiscing, I haven't been on a ferry in twelve years. Once upon a time I was a girl and my name was Dottie and I was seventeen and in love and I was real. I had a life that I loved and it was beautiful and the boy was beautiful and here I am again but once was enough, once is all you get to ask for, once is about all I can survive.

de reactivar el recuerdo de un momento feliz en el que estábamos protegidos por nuestra afectuosa familia.

What must one be, to rave year after year with delirious feverishness about nonexistent, long-extinct themes, and to know nothing, to see nothing around one!

Since the moment I saw her yesterday, I've been looking through the sparkly prism of exhilaration that comes with any old flame. But now, for the first time, I'm not just seeing what I want. I'm seeing what my friend needs.

There are some people in your life who bring back old memories. And there are others - your first kiss, your first love, your first sex - who, the moment you see them, bring a spark… and something far more potent. They bring back your old life and with that, potential. And possibilities. And the feeling that if you were back in that time, life could be so very different from where you're stuck right now. That's the most tantalizing thing… I want my potential back.

This was what was wonderful, standing alone in the big, soft night rewriting the past to make myself miss what had never been. Now that it was over, I could turn the past into anything I wanted.

This was what was wonderful, standing alone in the big, soft night rewriting the past to make myself miss what had never been. Now that it was over, I could turn the past into anything I wanted. I could revise the empty space inside me so that it had a better shape: the outline of a happy childhood.

Vsako srce nosi v svojem najskrivnejšem koti?ku drobtinico vednosti- spominja se kraja, trenutka v katerem je bilo sre?no, in po tistem kraju se mu toži, tja se želi vrniti.

I fear the day when the technos decide that paper books are obsolete and we are reading from PC screens and iPods and eBooks, and we never again experience the little rush of opening a new book and cracking the spine and smelling the print and diving deep into the thoughts of the writer.

murmured, reminding me of the time I'd sung the Sara Bareilles anthem

Ever since I was small I loved feeling somebody comb my hair. It made me go all sleepy and peaceful.