Quotes About Nostalgia

I cannot remember you when the rain flows down -I cannot remember youandmy heart begins to drown ...

The moment I close my eyes, I see you and sleep vanishes. I'm awake the entire night, revisiting ourmemories together. The night seems to stretch on forever.

Someone once said that nostalgia is longing for a place you'd never go back to and thinking about it… that's pretty much how I'm feeling about my ex-husband: longing for someone I'd never go back to.

Once upon a time, you were everything to me..and I was everything to you.

The Best Part Of Missing You Is, "I Recall Every Single Moment Spent With You."Bt The Worst Part Is, "I Miss You So Badly.

I miss you so much. Maybe if I say your name over and over again, it will eventually feel wrong to me. Like a word you write too many times suddenly doesn't look right anymore. I will try that.

Had I known, I would not have left you, alone beneath those stars, on the night when I last saw you, not knowing it was the last.

Jack had been the love of her life and he was gone. It seemed now that there had never been bad times, though she knew that wasn't true.

Ricordo ancora dei momenti magnifici, in cui la famiglia era al completo...non immaginavo neppure lontanamente che da lì a breve quegli idilliaci intermezzi sarebbero finiti. Eppure presto accadde.

Odat?, când eram mic, m? întorceam acas? într-un car cu fân. Asta se petrecea la via noastr? de lâng? Râmnicu-S?rat. Adormisem È™i m-am trezit deodat?, singur în carul cu fân - È™i deasupra mea erau numai stele. Erau numai stele. ?i parc? totul se oprise pe loc. Parc? timpul nu mai curgea. Nu erau decât stele.

Az álmokban, az álmodozásokban rejlÅ' nosztalgia, vágy, lelkesedés stb. képei olyan erÅ'k, amelyek a történelmileg meghatározott emberi lényt saját "történelmi pillanatába" zárt világánál százszorta gazdagabb szellemi világba röpítik át.

Am uitat de mult gustul atâtor trupuri pe care le-am cunoscut. Asta se întâmpl? aproape tuturor b?rbaÅ£ilor : s? n-aib? amintiri calde, s? nu mai p?streze nimic din toat? magia aceea a dragostei fizice

Berne A remarkable discovery today in the window of a toyshop. Not only lead soldiers of all sizes and poses—but also a large number of tanks. Some of them are quite realistic, with machine guns in the turret and wheels encircled with tracks. Locomotives are no longer in fashion today, in children's toys—not even in Switzerland.

Every homeland constitutes a sacred geography. For those who have left it, the city of their childhood and adolescence always becomes a mythical city.

In exile, the road home lies through language, through dreams.

One night I heard my dad say to my mom: I can't help but think of the good times we're having now as being painful memories later on. And my mom saying, c'mon now honey.

Most of us, she said, absolve ourselves of responsibility for change by sentimentalizing our pasts.

She was a strange, unsettled planet that had had once sustained life. She was a language that I had thought I almost understood even though I couldn't speak it. She hadn't always been this way. She used to wear high knee socks and short shorts and tube tops, and travel everywhere on roller skates.

Being seasick at sea is not the same as being homesick at home.

Later that evening I lay down in Min's empty bed upstairs and pulled her white sheet up over my head. I felt for my kneecaps and hip bones. I lay perfectly still, arms down, palms up. I closed my eyes and pretended I was floating in space, then at sea, then not floating at all.I hummed an old Beach Boys tune. In my room... Min had taught me how to play it on her guitar when we were kids.

For a few seconds I thought about my little brothers who loved connecting things with rope. I wondered if I'd ever see them again and a torpedo of sadness struck me and moved straight trough my body.

Em venen ganes de donar-li'n les gràcies, d'abraçar-la. (No, el que en realitat tinc ganes de fer és agafar-la i ballar al voltant del cobert. Quan érem petits, l'agafava darrere de l'estable dels poltres i la portava un tros a coll, corrent, rient, mentre ella em deia que no li esclafés el pit, que li'n fugiria el cor.)

Svitalo je, kada je Filip stigao na kaptolski kolodvor. Dvadeset i tri godine nije ga zapravo bilo u ovom zakutku, a znao je još uvijek sve kako dolazi: i truli slinavi krovovi i jaka buka fratarskog tornja i siva, vjetrom isprana jednokatnica na dnu mra?nog drvoreda.

We all yearn for what we have lost. But sometimes, we forget what we have.