Quotes About Nostalgia

Maybe that rusty boat hangar looked like the entrance to a cave to her," he'd said. Maybe. If you were eight, and near-sighted, and nostalgic for places that you'd never been. But if the Glowworm Grotto actually exists, that changes everything. Olivia's ghost could be there now, twitching her nose with rabbity indignation - "But I left you a map!" Wondering what took us so long to find her.

Her name in a stranger's mouth was a resurrection; however briefly, she was alive with him again again. Even that little shove could roll back the tomb.

Kids were for later, maybe. They could still see the children they had been.

Back then we played actual games. We hid and we sought.

Now her body was the only place where the memories were preserved.

She used to suffer these intense bouts of homesickness in her own bedroom. When she was very small, she would wake up tearing at her bedspread and shrieking, "I wanna go home! I wanna go home!" Which was distressing to all of us, of course, because she was home.

Sometimes I long for a good old-fashioned Walton Christmas. You know, the kind where you give someone an apple or wooden whistle and they go into cardiac arrest from sheer ecstasy.

London. For some reason the word didn't seem to have the magic, warm, sound of home that it had always had.

They say that not matter how old you become, when you are with your siblings, you revert back to childhood.

Strong winds buffet the sea oats and tall dune grasses, tossing sand and seabirds where it will, winding my sister's golden hair into sunlit spirals of silk until it becomes the only good memory I have of her -- the only memory I allowed myself to keep.

I've always thought that old clothes are a lot like old houses; they bring the past and present together.

let the story go, and still clutched F. Scott Fitzgerald's This Side of Paradise in my arms as if to let it go would

My childhood had been vanishing bit by bit while I'd been living in New York, trying to pretend it had never existed. Maybe that was what the old saying – that a person can never really go home again – was all about. You couldn't go home because even though home might still be there in brick and mortar, everything else would be unrecognizable.

But sometimes it's hard to see a person from our past with new eyes. Like they've become a statue to their previously perceived old wonderfulness, and that's all we see – not the real person they are.

Home is a place that lives in one's heart, waiting with open arms to be rediscovered.

What i like about photographs is that they capture a moment that's gone forever, impossible to reproduce.

When people talk about the good old days, I say to people, 'It's not the days that are old, it's you that's old.' I hate the good old days. What is important is that today is good.

If you're going to remember anything from your past, then do so fondly because you can't change a thing about it.

I love anything old. I love to travel and especially like to visit the places where my books are set. My husband and I often stay in out-of-the-way inns and houses built in times past. It's fun and it gives a wonderful sense of a by-gone era.

Impossible de décrire ce sourire-là sans plonger dans le monde merveilleux des vieux standards de bal musette. Dedans il y avait du soleil, des fraises des bois, des gazouillis d'oiseaux et des reflets sur un lac de montagne.

A good memory, I'm sure," Zen returned. "But a memory nonetheless.

Birthdays should come every day. Especially when you missed so many as a kid.

Secondhand pieces have the most soul.

It was a long time ago now. And it was yesterday.