Quotes About Nostalgia

Arriba, en la habitación de su padre y su madre, encontró un pastillero, negro y brillante por fuera y rojo por dentro, que contenía un copo de algodón. -Aquí podría guardar un huevo de pájaro -decidió

Little things are starting to come back to him, memories involving that summer that he can recall with fondness—fondness, and wonder—the way you can look back at a time in your life and say with certainty, "Here, I was most alive.

air, and even the rain could not wash the

Dad's Buick—what a great car it had been all these years—

late the other night, when the kids were asleep and the birds at roost, I made a tour through the Internet's second-hand bookstores,…

I shrugged into my favorite sweatshirt--you know the kind--where the cuffs are worn and torn and all signs of elasticity have long since disappeared. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, the sweatshirt symbolized the person I'd become--well-worn, a bit beat-up, and hanging by a thread.

secondhand bookstores have pilgrims. The words out of print are a call to arms for those who seek a Holy Grail made of paper and ink.

It's amazing how lonely a place where you were once happy can become.

Easing back in her seat, Grace watched the children in the playground opposite, coats off, faces flushed, laughing hysterically with pleasure. They were so vividly alive, completely immersed in the game. She tried to recall a time when she'd been that way and realized she couldn't remember when that had been. She'd lost the knack of forgetting herself. Instead she seemed to look down on herself throughout the day, scrutinizing, judging; finding herself wanting more.

He didn't know what it was like to live between memory and regret

The house filled rapidly; cheerful talk overflowed the rooms and children were bobbing in and out everywhere with their shining new toys, until finally, at a very late hour, we all sat down to the Christmas dinner, before the huge, crisp and crackling brown body of the Christmas goose. Everything but the holiday was forgotten. That was the last night I remember, in the years in which I was to remain in Germany, over which no shadow fell.

You can always come back to a place, even if it isn't there anymore.

The crickets were rubbing their hind legs together, unrolling that endless band of sound that when combined with the sound of the sycamore trees losing their heads in the heat-thickened breeze could cause even a girl as unsentimental as Mary to feel like she'd just left something behind on the porch stoop she couldn't bear to live without.

It was painful to remember him, but the thought of forgetting him was even worse.

There's nothing like the feel of an old book in your hands.

We used to run all the time as boys, remember?" Archer's grin grew. "I remember Tryst trying to keep up. Poor little bastard.

I chuckled at this passage from Dr. Tempe Brennan in "Bones Never Lie" by Kathy Reichs: "Back home, I ate Bojangles chicken with Bird and watched a rerun of 'Bones.' For some reason, the cat is nuts about Hodgins.

The mental Images were liquifying So I could no longer separate what I was recalling from the past from what I'd seen in detailed photos that afternoon. Like life. I've long suspected that many of my memories from childhood Are actually drawn from old pictures, That they are composed of snapshots, A mosaic of celluloids Images reworked into a remembered reality. Kodak cast backwards. Maybe it's better to recall The pass that way. We rarely take pictures of sad occasions.

The mental images were liquifying so I could no longer separate what I was recalling from the past from what I'd seen in detailed photos that afternoon. Like life. I've long suspected that many of my memories from childhood are actually drawn from old pictures, That they are composed of snapshots, A mosaic of celluloids Images reworked into a remembered reality. Kodak cast backwards. Maybe it's better to recall the past that way. We rarely take pictures of sad occasions.

smile fondly down into the cradle before returning to the farmyard. Grandpa Muldoon followed him, pausing in the doorway to remind the girls they were now in charge of the little ones. Then he closed the door quietly behind him and Jenny and Claudia returned to their contemplation of the babies, lying head

I felt like I was ten again and had been caught using my uncle's Cuban cigars as miniature canoes in the toilet.

At times, my nostalgia for our family life as it used to be--for our own imperfect, cherished, irretrievable past--is nearly overwhelming.

Home was this whole perfectly contained universe--town, friends, acquaintances, the streets we traveled every day...And we were about to leave it all.

My dad would give me $10, which is a lot of money when you're 9, to sing at church, on tables at restaurants, at family functions, just about anywhere.