Quotes About Nostalgia

Aunque tal vez tuera yo el que la veía así, añorante de aquella estación de ciudad provinciana y tranquila a la que llegué un buen día decidido a iniciar mi carrera como periodista.

Los años habian pasado borrándolo todo y lo que quedada era el humo de los recuerdos.

El tiempo nos va alejando de las personas lo mismo que de los recuerdos.

Fui tan feliz en aquella ciudad que, cuando me acordaba de ella, la mitificaba como los emigrantes hacen con sus países.

El tiempo había pasado a toda velocidad. Y había dejado su huella en nosotros pero también en la ciudad que tanto disfrutamos y vivimos cuando la juventud corría por nuestras venas y nuestras Ilusiones estaban intactas.

El choque entre mi memoria y lo que veía alrededor de mí me hacía sentirme fuera de un mundo que me era familiar, pero al que ya no pertenecía.

Sometimes, you think you have forgotten everything, that the rust and dust of the years have destroyed all the things we once entrusted to their voracious appetite. But all it takes is a noise, a smell, a sudden, unexpected touch, and suddenly the alluvion of time sweeps pitilessly over us, and our memories light up with all the brilliance and fury of a lightning flash

A veces, uno cree que todo lo ha olvidado, que el óxido y el polvo de los años han destruido ya completamente lo que, a su voracidad, un día confiamos. Pero basta un sonido, un olor, un tacto repentino e inesperado, para que, de repente, el aluvión del tiempo caiga sin compasión sobre nosotros y la memoria se ilumine con el brillo y la rabia de un relámpago. Aquella noche, además, el recuerdo estaba aún en carne viva.

Por qué desear que los minutos y los años vuelvan cuando sabemos que no lo harán jamás? ¿Para qué sirve la melancolía? Nos pasamos la mitad de la vida perdiendo el tiempo y la otra mitad queriendo recuperarlo.

A veces, uno cree que todo lo ha olvidado, que el óxido y el polvo de los años han destruido ya completamente lo que, a su voracidad, un día confiamos. Pero basta un sonido, un olor, un tacto repentino e inesperado, para que, de repente, el aluvión del tiempo caiga sin compasión sobre nosotros y la memoria se ilumine con el brillo y la rabia de un relámpago.

The older we get the more we seem to think that everything was better in the past.

The ancients waited for cherry blossoms, grieved when they were gone, and lamented their passing in countless poems. How very ordinary the poems had seemed to Sachiko when she read them as a girl, but now she knew, as well as one could know, that grieving over fallen cherry blossoms was more than a fad or convention.

I was brought up in a very open, rural countryside in the middle of nowhere. There were no cell phones. If your lights went out, you were lit by candlelight for a good four days before they can get to you. And so, my imagination was crazy.

a particularly Jersey malaise--the inextinguishable longing for elsewheres.

You know how it is when you get back with somebody you've loved. It felt better than it ever was, better than it ever could be again

We're all under the streetlamps, everyone's the color of day-old piss. When I'm fifty, this is how I'll remember my friends: tired and yellow and drunk.

I watched commercial ave. slide past and there in the distance were the lights of route 18. that was one of those moments that would always be Rutgers for me.

La Inca shook her head. She was looking at her favorite picture of his mother on her first day at private school, one of those typical serious DR shots. What always happens. Un maldito hombre.

It is probably her son she misses, or the father. Or our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

They sounded a lot like me and my old girlfriend Loretta, but I swore to myself that I would stop thinking about her ass, even though every Cleopatra-looking Latina in the city made me stop and wish she would come back to me.

You have dreams where she's talking to you like in the old days- in that sweet Spanish of the Cibao, no sign of rage, of disappointment. And then you wake up.

our whole country, which you never think of until it's gone, which you never love until you're no longer there.

I figured this staying up meant something. Maybe it was loss or love or some other word that we say when it's too fucking late but the boys weren't into melodrama.

Before all hope died I used to have this stupid dream that shit could be saved, that we would be in bed together like the old times, with the fan on, the smoke from our weed drifting above us, and I'd finally try to say words that could have saved us. ________ ________ ________.