Quotes About Nostalgia

Music, at its essence, is what gives us memories. And the longer a song has existed in our lives, the more memories we have of it.

They don't make it as well as they did in the past!0

I don't like coming home. It keeps me from being nostalgic, which by nature I am. Even before the plane begins its descent, I find myself dreading the questions left unanswered by my childhood.

Her address book confirmed it, the pages inhabited equally by the living and the dead....Each name called up raucous dinner parties and gin-and-tonics on sunny patios, lazy Saturday afternoons at the swim club, station wagons filled with noisy boys in polyester baseball uniforms.

Ändå jämrade sig minnet och sade: Riv inte, det är mina hus. Ni får inte slakta Klara! Varför inte, frågade då förnuftet, och minnet svarade: Därför att det är i denna del av världen som du har upplevt de klarvaknaste och mest spännande timmarna i ditt liv. Därför att alla dessa Klaras hus varit kulisser åt dina drömmar, bakgrunder till dina vandringar, vittnen till dina konspirationer.

De tijden en de smaak zijn veranderd en de mensen ook. Men moet, ik herhaal het, nooit trachten een geliefde kennis uit lang verleden tijden terug te zien - nooit trachten iets te herleven van 't geen voorbij is. Le passé a ses mirages, maar laat u er niet door begoochelen.

I miss England. I miss the weather. I've spent moss of the last 25 years on tour. I'm ready to come home.

You'll remember me when the west wind moves Upon the fields of barley You can tell the sun in his jealous sky When we walked in fields of gold

I walked to Seward School first through fourth grade. It's just amazing to me now that we'd walk down 10th Avenue on Capitol Hill.

I spent much of my time painting, and portraits of a dozen lost loves adorned the walls of my home; their cold eyes stared down at me with disdain, their lips forever smiling.

Their language is that of dreams and memories.

He had looked as beautiful as she remembered him, yet he had all but forgotten her.

Did the sight of Tayven kindle old memories? Perhaps he was sad to see Tayven had grown from a beautiful fey boy into a man. It could remind him of his own mortality. When Tayven had first gone into Almorante's service, the prince had been little more than a boy himself.

He sensed its great age beneath his feet and even now, closing his eyes upon the busy street, fancied he could sense its previous incarnations, when the streets had been merely mud. Perhaps it had always been filthy.

He yearned for the mellow glow of an English summer evening and the smallness of life in his old home.

Almorante and I were once very close. Bizarrely, I was assailed by the desire to discuss things with him, as I always used to. I realize I must have missed it.

I stopped walking and looked hard at this grand woman who had once been a girlhood friend. We had not known each other very long, but our friendship had been intense and intimate for all its brevity.

You're no longer touched by the magic of this place, are you?

Memories were perhaps sweeter than reality.

Ghosts only lived in the past, caught up in their melodramas, reliving and reliving them. Selish they were, selfish and blind.

It is time now, Lily Murkaster, for you to come home.

He couldn't imagine returning, for a sense of finality and ending enclosed him like a farewell murmured in a soft sad voice.

Music and laughter in the valley called him back, but the summons was weak.

It is the breath of Caradore, its fragrance. He needs to carry that with him.