Quotes About Nostalgia

But... what about us? What about the past? she asks blankly. The past isn't real. it's just a dream, I say. Don't mention the past.

From those of us who are left behind: you will be remembered, you were the one I needed, I loved you in my dreams.

I want to go back, Daniel says, quietly, with effort. Where? I ask, unsure. There's a long pause that kind of freaks me out and Daniel finishes his drink and fingers the sunglasses he's still wearing and says, I don't know. Just back.

When Blair bites her lower lip she's eighteen again.

There was a romance to that analog era, an ardency, an otherness that is missing in the post-Empire digital age where everything has ultimately come to feel disposable.

There are some guys sitting at tables who all look at this one gorgeous girl, longingly, hoping for at least one dance or a blow job in Daddy's car and there are all these girls, looking indifferent or bored, smoking clove cigarettes, all of them or at least most of them staring at one blond-haired boy standing in the back with sunglasses on. Julian

Romeo Void blared out of the sunroof.

En cuanto me di cuenta de que estaba completamente solo comprendí, sólo entonces, que tenía problemas graves. Mi actitud nostálgica con respecto a la fama y las drogas -el placer de comadecerme a mí mismo- se había transformado en tristeza y el futuro ya no me parecía ni remotamente plausible. Solamente una cosa parecía correr hacia mí: una negrura, una tumba, el final

He missed corded phones, which you could slam into their cradle.

Each sentient life requires a place of extreme serenity, where the mind may roam afterward in memory and to which the body longs to return.

When the sun sets like fire, I will think of you, when the moon casts its light, I'll remember, too, if a soft rain falls gently, I'll stand in this place, recalling the last time, I saw your kind face. Good fortune go with you, to your journey's end, let the waters run calmly, for you, my dear friend.

My memories are like a shuffled deck of cards, each one coming up at random.

Some memories are presents that I'm unable to unwrap over and over.

I hated being twelve. Back in '65, I just wanted to grow up fast so everything would finally be good, you know? But truth is, life was actually way better back then. Turns out, the older you get... the more everything just turns to shit.

Well, I've always wanted to call my son Barr. Like a tavern? Like a soap ? My father's name is Barr. Oh. And I love it!

It would be a very long time before we saw any of our original pursuers again. At least, it seemed kinda long. But nothing warps time quite like childhood. I remember visits to faraway worlds that lasted only a few days but felt like entire lifetimes. And then there were the endless journeys between destinations that somehow went by in the blink of an eye. You know how it goes.

The next morning, they cremated my grandfather in the belly of our ship. I still have a scarp of the outfit he made for me. These days, I use it as a bookmark.

Marvel and DC are my divorced mom and dad. DC is my stable, loving, nurturing mom. Marvel is my weird dad who lives in a condo and doesn't know how to cook, but he'll let you stay up until three in the morning watching RoboCop 2.

Why do you always make it sound like everything was better before I was born? It's not you, Mitchell. There was just more civility back then. We still had respect for authority, I guess. This is what happens when no one trusts the people in power.

Life is nothing more than a series of lyric snippets from Bruce Springsteen songs.

when a culture needs wise spiritual guidance the most, all it gets from religious leaders is anxious condemnation and critique, along with a big dose of nostalgia for the lost golden age of the good old days. We

My father told me that when he was a kid, it was the best place in Syracuse to go to the movies. I told him I didn't think movies had been invented when he was a kid. He said he loved me, but if I didn't shut up and fill out my audition form, he'd probably kill me. I told him if he really felt that way he should give me a pen.

Reactionary nostalgia for the proprieties of Victorian England is unfortunate, like a whore looking under the bed for her virginity.

I am leaning back and running with it and staring at the stars and I'm eleven, I'm sixteen, I'm eighteen, I'm a newborn I'm everyone everywhere with you without you unbound set free in limbo lost at sea.