Quotes About Nostalgia

That world seemed to have vanished, but for a long time the image I had of my father, which I still preserve today, was that of a thin man wearing an old suit that was too large for him and a secondhand hat he had bought on Calle Condal for seven pesetas, a man who could not afford to buy his son a wretched pen that was useless but seemed to mean everything to him.

Few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart. Those first images, the echo of words we think have left behind, accompany us throughout our lives and sculpt a palace in our memory

Benjamín Sentís vivía en pretérito pluscuamperfecto.

No sabía entonces que el océano del tiempo tarde o temprano nos devuelve los recuerdos que enterramos en él

few things leave a deeper mark on a reader than the first book that finds its way into his heart. Those first images, the echo of words we think we have left behind, accompany us throughout our lives and sculpt a palace in our memory to which, sooner or later—no matter how many books we read, how many worlds we discover, or how much we learn or forget—we will return.

He believed that life gives us all a few moments of happiness. For some they last hours or days, for a few lucky ones they last for years. The memories from those moments stays with us forever and turns into a country of memory to which we try to go back for the rest of our lives without ever being able to

I stopped asking my father to take me to see Victor Hugo's pen, and he didn't mention it again. That world seemed to have vanished, but for a long time the image I had of my father, which I still preserve today, was that of a thin man wearing an old suit that was too large for him and a secondhand hat he had bought on Calle Condal for seven pesetas, a man who could not afford to buy his son a wretched pen that was useless but seemed to mean everything to him.

Ya no somos jóvenes — dijo, leyéndome el pensamiento. —¿Cuándo hemos sido jóvenes tú y yo? (We're not young anymore, she said, reading my thought. When were you and I ever young?)

I was raised among books, making invisible friends in pages that seemed cast from dust and whose smell I carry on my hands to this day. As

Jednog Boži?a Sempere mi je darovao najljepši dar koji sam ikada dobio. Bila je to stara knjiga, temeljito pro?itana i proživljena. 'Velika o?ekivanja Charlesa Dickensa...' pro?itao sam na naslovnici. Znao sam da Sempere poznaje neke pisce koji su ?esto posje?ivali njegov du?an i, sude?i po ljubavi kojom je rukovao tom knjigom, pomislio sam da je možda i taj don Charles jedan od njih. 'Vaš prijatelj?' 'Još od djetinjstva. Od danas i tvoj.

Cedo ou tarde, o oceano do tempo nos devolve as lembranças que enterramos nele.

Nos miramos en la penumbra, buscando palabras que no existían. Aquélla fue la primera vez en que me di cuenta de que mi padre envejecía y de que sus ojos, ojos de niebla y de pérdida, siempre miraban atrás. Se incorporó y descorrió las cortinas para dejar entrar la tibia luz del alba.

Sooner or later the ocean of time brings back the memories we submerge in it.

Avevo sempre pensato che le stazioni ferroviarie fossero tra i pochi lughi magici rimasti al mondo. I fantasmi dei ricordi e degli addii vi si mescolavano con l'inizio di centinaia di viaggi per destinazioni lontane, senza ritorno.

Mil veces he querido regresar y perderme en un recuerdo del que apenas puedo rescatar una imagen robada al calor de las llamas.

I handed the photo back to her. The caretaker gazed at it as if it were a lucky charm, a return ticket to her youth.

Sono cresciuto in mezzo ai libri, facendomi amici invisibili tra le pagine polverose di cui ho ancora l'odore sulle mani.

When I reached the street, I could still feel [her] face, her voice, and her smell, deep in my soul. I carried the trace of her lips, of her breath on my skin through streets full of faceless people escaping from offices and shops.

Odrastao sam me?u knjigama, okružen nevidljivim prijateljima koje sam nalazio na stranicama što su se me?u mojim prstima mrvile u prah; taj miris starih knjiga još danas osje?am na rukama.

One by one the lights of the city went out, and I realized that I had already begun to remember.

Quando cheguei à rua ainda levava o seu rosto,a sua voz e o seu cheiro cravados na alma.

Mladost je hirovita djevojka. Ne znamo je shvatiti ni cijeniti dok ne oti?e s drugim i više se nikad ne vrati...

Like many men, by then my father was beginning to suspect that he stopped being a young man, and he often revisited the scenes of his early youth, looking for answers to questions he still didn't fully understand.

Pasaba los días en su antigua habitación, que fiel a la promesa de su padre, seguía igual, aunque ahora todo parecía más pequeño, como si las casas y los objetos, o quizá sólo fuera la vida, encogiesen con el tiempo.