Quotes About Nostalgia

Sometimes I miss being en pointe, but not a whole lot. Every once and a while, I would love to float for a minute on a shoe. But for the most part, I did it long enough that it's OK.

I'm really aging myself, but I grew up with 'Playhouse 90' and the plays on the air - 90 minute plays.

Nowadays, people, lovers, don't write letters to each other anymore. They just pick up the phone and say, "Are you free tonight? Shall we go out?" That's all, and you have nothing to keep. That is a pity. We must learn to write love letters again. Write to your beloved one, he may be your father or your son. She may be your daughter, your mother, your sister, or your friend. Take time to write down your gratitude and love.

In the end we remember all the students we've gone to school with and invite them to our homes only to find out that we no longer have the least thing in common with them, I thought.

Wir leben doch immer in der falschen Zeit hat er gesagt wir wollen alle nur in der Vergangenheit leben die haben wir uns so schön eingerichtet die Vergangenheit wie wir wollen kein Mensch will die Zukunft

Mensch, was haben wir die Luft bewegt, schrieb Micha später. Es wäre ewig so weitergegangen. Es war von vorn bis hinten zum Kotzen, aber wir haben uns prächtig amüsiert. Wir waren alle so klug, so belesen, so interessiert, aber unterm Strich war's idiotisch. Wir stürmten in die Zukunft, aber wir waren so was von gestern. Mein Gott, waren wir komisch, und wir haben es nicht einmal gemerkt. Es wäre ewig so weitergegangen, aber es ist was dazwischengekommen.

The thing about loss-of-innocence stories, the reason they hit so hard, is that they're so final. You can never go back.

She considers the past. She measures it and weighs it and holds it in her hand like a plum. The past is everything now, and she understands that this is what it means to be dying: You stop looking forward, instead living for moments that happened years before.

Every woman who makes a permanent impression on a man is afterwards recalled to his mind's eye as she appeared in one particular scene, which seems ordained to be her special medium of manifestation throughout all the pages of his memory.

Bygones would never be complete bygones till she was a bygone herself.

I went, and knelt, and scooped my hand As if to drink, into the brook, And a faint figure seemed to stand Above me, with the bygone look.

Phases of her childhood lurked in her aspect still. As she walked along to-day, for all her bouncing handsome womanliness, you could sometimes see her twelfth year in her cheeks, or her ninth sparkle from her eyes; and even her fifth would flit over the curves of her mouth now and then. Yet

I like reading and all that, but a crave to get back to the life of my infancy and all its freedom. (Sue Bridehead)

Don't that make your bosom plim?

reminiscence is less an endowment than a disease...

They sat in a row on the couches and in wheelchairs listening to the radio, their faded eyes fixed on the fish or on nothing or something they saw a long time ago. Francis would always remember the shuffle of feet on linoleum in the hot and buzzing day, and the smell of stewed tomatoes and cabbage from the kitchen, the smell of old people like meat wrappers dried in the sun, and always the radio.

WHEN STARLING was a child she moved from a clapboard house that groaned in the wind to the solid redbrick of the Lutheran Orphanage.

y empezaba a sentir añoranza por el mundo de antaño; como un ancla en un mar con mal tiempo.

Aunque pudiera verte cada día, siempre recordaría este momento.

As for my feet, the little feet You used to call so pretty, There's one, I know, in Bedford Row, The t'other's in the City.

Castles in the Air My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the past alone I build My castles in the air. I dwell not now on what may be: Night shadows o'er the scene: But still my fancy wanders free Through that which might have been.

Is not the pastness of the past the more profound, the more legendary, the more immediately it falls before the present ?

Verhalen horen zich in het verleden af te spelen, en hoe verder het verleden, zou men kunnen zeggen, des te beter voor ze, in hun hoedanigheid van verhalen, én voor de verteller, wiens gemurmel de onvoltooid verleden tijd bezweert.

C'è nostalgia, dentro, e malinconica invidia, appena un po' di disprezzo e una grande, casta felicità.