Quotes About Nostalgia

He's shocked to find I am middle aged. I'm not shocked. Inside me are the Russian dolls of the women and girls I've been before each more beautiful and unhappy than the current.

Kate Carlisle

Living in that childish wonder is a most beautiful feeling - I can so well remember it. There was always something more - behind and beyond everything - to me, the golden spectacles were very, very big.

I looked at some old photos Mom took of me and Dad for some photography project or other and tried to see if he listened to me back then, if we were close. But how can you tell? Just because people smile for photos doesn't mean they're happy.

I talked to ex-wives of musicians of the '70s for research. They're the funniest people in the world, yet there is this sad, beautiful thing in their eyes that says they've seen more than they could ever possibly tell you.

For the next thirteen-plus hours, I stared out the window at the passing towns and countryside. All those lives. All those untold stories and private dramas. There was something so beautiful and sad about it. I felt weirdly emotional, like I was running away from home, but also running to a new home.

Isn't it funny that at Christmas something in you gets so lonely for - I don't know what exactly, but it's something that you don't mind so much not having at other times.

I try to clutch onto those last moments in the place that I was born to, but I was so busy *living* them! How was I to know I'd have to capture everything I ever wanted to remember of Eire for the rest of my life?

It is a cruel, ironical art, photography. The dragging of captured moments into the future; moments that should have been allowed to be evaporate into the past; should exist only in memories, glimpsed through the fog of events that came after. Photographs force us to see people before their future weighed them down....

Long ago, before England was cut up with pavement, or bisected by railways, there existed in the county of Lancashire a small village named Reston that never bothered anyone.

I never allowed myself to forget how it had felt to be young and in love.

The secret of my mincemeat was handed down to me by my dear mother. In a word, suet.

It was as grim a social scene as I'd ever encountered, and I missed everything I'd left behind at home. I wondered what my nail polish collection was doing right now.

My fondest memories are generally the day after Thanksgiving. I get the total decorating Christmas itch.

Oh, she missed herself. It felt like she used to miss Abe, when he was at Harvard and then after they broke up. No, deeper than that: the way she sometimes missed her parents when she was a child and had slept over at a friend's. She was homesick for herself, a longing so deep and unanswerable that for a moment it took her breath away.

Recalling our band of firebrands to him fills me with longing. Those girls are married now, most of them, and the better part have moved away. But then, it was never the same with us, after.

And I hated how most of us had grown up together, so that we never had a chance to really change. We could try, but people just kept seeing an earlier version of us. We each had our own narrative, our own character we were required to perform in the daily play that was "St. Joan's Academy for Girls,

It would appear that we are nearly out of time," Janine Silva said, eying her vintage Spiro Agnew wristwatch....

I love coming back to Neath - this is home and always will be.

Maud chuckled proudly and Erich shouted, "Welcome back from the Void, Kamerad," and then, because he's German and thinks all parties have to be noisy and satirically pompous, he jumped on a couch and announced, "Heren und Damen, permit me to introduce the noblest Roman of them all, Marcus Vipsalus Niger".

Like first love, the heart of Russia will not forget you.

Andare a caccia di ricordi non è mai un bell'affare. Qualunque cosa trovi sulla tua strada rimane in ogni caso un nulla di fatto. Quelli belli non li puoi più catturare e quelli brutti non li puoi uccidere. E ogni respiro sembrava fatto d'aria malsana, quella che si ferma in gola e lascia un cattivo sapore in bocca.

Childhood memories surge back more vividly midway through life – like some palimpsest whose original text suddenly reappears after the manuscript has been chemically treated.

And then a lady in a window high, Fair-haired, dark-eyed, and dressed in ancient style... Whom, in another life, perhaps I've seen, And whom I now remember with a sigh.