Quotes About Nostalgia

Remember me, Daniel, even if it's only in a corner and secretly. Don't let me go.

Recuérdame, Daniel, aunque sea en un rincón y a escondidas. No me dejes ir.

Sometimes memories follow you wherever you go-you don't need to take them with you.

Certa ocasião ouvi um cliente habitual da livraria de meu pai comentar que poucas coisas marcam tanto um leitor como o primeiro livro que realmente abre caminho ao seu coração. As primeiras imagens, o eco dessas palavras que pensamos ter deixado para trás, nos acompanham por toda a vida e esculpem um palácio em nossa memória [...] ao qual iremos retornar.

I got the feeling that Julián was living in the past, locked in his memories. Julián lived within himself, for his books and inside them—a comfortable prison of his own design." "You say this as if you envied him." "There are worse prisons than words, Daniel.

you never knew when the end of childhood was due. We shared the soup, a broth made from leftovers with bits of bread in it, surrounded by the sticky droning of radio soaps that filtered out through open windows into the church square.

pocas cosas marcan tanto a un lector como el primer libro que realmente se abre camino hasta su corazón. Aquellas primeras imágenes, el eco de esas palabras que creemos haber dejado atrás, nos acompañan toda la vida y esculpen un palacio en nuestra memoria al que, tarde o temprano - no importa cuántos libros leamos, cuántos mundos descubramos, cuánto aprendamos u olvidemos -, vamos a regresar.

I still remember the day my father took me to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books for the first time.

Damals wusste ich nicht, dass der Ozean der Zeit früher oder später die Erinnerungen anschwemmt, die wir in ihm versenkt haben.

A childhood is what anyone wants to remember of it.  It leaves behind no fossils, except perhaps in fiction.

At the edge of every experience is the refracted light of recollection, snagged there like an image in a beveled mirror.

As Mother headed the car for the highway, she said, You two sure got quiet in the back seat. I thought you'd be telling Jo Dee and Brian good-bye all the way across the bridge. Michele and Michael giggled. We are, they said, as they perched on their knees facing out the back window. They each gave the skull and crossbones sign and Jo Dee and Brian returned it.

Michael took pictures of everybody. "We'll want to remember this," he told Janie.

As Nubia played the flute, it was if her finger tips caressed each one of those she loved, those whom she would never see again

When Venalicius had carried her far across the Land of Blue to the Land of Red, the only familiar thing had been the stars in the sky. At Flavia's house she had slept in the inner garden with Scuto, comforted by his furry warmth and by the familiar constellations overhead. But tonight she could see no stars. Tonight there was nothing to remind her of home and who she had been.

school before me, and we'd see her

The old blue swing looked lonely, like it was waiting to tell stories, and it could sure enough tell a lot.

received through the years. But Harriet had passed on the

Would you want to be sixteen again?" Lola asked.

This Mrs. Emory remembers she phoned the Horton house to talk to her friend about a class reunion.

The emotion is Janus-faced: we are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known.

We are torn between a nostalgia for the familiar and an urge for the foreign and strange. As often as not, we are homesick most for the places we have never known

I had no power of how and when to remember her. You think you can put up a kind of shield. But remembering don't come to a man face forward—it corners around sideways. I was at the mercy of everything I saw and heard. Suddenly instead of me combing the countryside to find her, she begun to chase me around in my very soul. She chasing me mind you! And in my soul.

In her mind she could remember about six different tunes from the pieces of his [Mozart's] she had heard. A few of them were kind of quick and tinkling, and another was like that smell in springtime after a rain. But they all made her somehow sad and excited at the same time. She hummed one of the tunes, and after a while in the hot, empty house by herself she felt the tears come in her eyes.