Quotes About Nostalgia

The films of Saturday Night Fever and Grease were all the rage and I'll admit, I went to see Grease at the local ABC Cinema with a few of my mates. You'd be surprised at how many so-called 'hard' lads that would be stood in the queue waiting to see Grease.

In the Rodgers and Hammerstein generation, popular hits came out of shows and movies.

I remember days Or at least I try But as years go by They're sort of haze And the bluest ink Isn't really sky And at times I think I would gladly die For a day of sky

I wanted to make it your fantasy high school. Whatever your feelings were about going to school - and most people were not happy in high school - I wanted to make everyone feel this is the school they wish they had gone to.

When the last moonshiner buys his radio, And the last, lost, wild-rabbit of a girl Is civilized with a mail-order dress, Something will pass that was American And all the movies will not bring it back.

They are our last frontier. They shot the railway-train when it first came, And when the Fords first came, they shot the Fords. It could not save them. They are dying now Of being educated, which is the same. One need not weep romantic tears for them, But when the last moonshiner buys his radio, And the last, lost, wild-rabbit of a girl Is civilized with a mail-order dress, Something will pass that was American And all the movies will not bring it back.

When people bitch about the death of the vinyl LP as a medium (and lord knows they bitch) what they're mostly lamenting is the death of this kind of listening. Music as a concerted sonic experience, rather than the backing track to a flashing screen. What

Why are people so fascinated by how to eat Valomilks?' She said, 'Well, Dad, they're round and they're messy. But that's what makes them fun. Once we get older we're not supposed to be messy anymore. But for one moment when you're eating a Valomilk, it's okay to be messy again.

Styx has become the mullet of bands.

Music has become more pervasive and portable than ever. But it feels less precious in the bargain. I

It is in these moments of tender and ridiculous nostalgia that I know something inside me is still broken.

But I can think of nothing on earth so beautiful as the final haul on Halloween night, which, for me, was ten to fifteen pounds of candy, a riot of colored wrappers and hopeful fonts,snub-nosed chocolate bars and SweeTARTS, the seductive rattle of Jujyfruits and Good & Plenty and lollipopsticks all akimbo, the foli ends of mini LifeSavers packs twinkling like dimes, and a thick sugary perfume rising up from the pillowcase.

Time is a track that loops back on itself, where memories rattle like tin trains. How had I been spending my days, but in the whirl of memories?

I don't think my mum ever understood my love of Doctor Who. Surely her strongest memory would have been me, standing at the top of the stairs, crying about how the "jelly men" were going to get me? Sorry, Mum, for those sleepless nights, but it was with good reason they called it Terror of the Zygons.

Baseball, to me, is still the national pastime because it is a summer game. I feel that almost all Americans are summer people, that summer is what they think of when they think of their childhood. I think it stirs up an incredible emotion within people.

It's funny, when people talk about the 70s I can tell you the year of every album but when it comes to the later efforts I can't remember the exact years, it's funny isn't it?

There had to be that sense of what happens when old friends, who have long drifted apart, get back together. As much as everyone wants things to be the way they once were, it simply can't happen.

It's the tension we feel between the desire to erase and forget and the need to always remember, and that only happens after you know, never before.

Childhood disappears down a storm drain. It flows, then trickles, then vanishes, leaving some olfactory memory—of new tennis balls, Sunday-morning bacon, a chemical cloud of Glade—to prove it ever existed. It seldom ends on a sixteenth birthday or an eighteenth birthday or some other calendar date, and rarer still is it stamped with a time of death. But sometimes it is.

Atari is a very sad story.

Boss, what, exactly, are we doing here?" "Feeling maudlin." "Oh. Good. How long are we planning on doing that?" "Don't you ever miss the days when you used to be nostalgic?" "What?" "Never mind.

Which makes it life's deepest irony that children wish so deeply to grow up and the old wish nothing more than to be young again.

Nostalgia was like a disease, one that crept in and stole the colour from the world and the time you lived in. Made for bitter people. Dangerous people, when they wanted back what never was.

Why do the survivors remain anonymous—as if cursed—while the dead are revered? Why do we cling to what we lose while we ignore what we still hold?