Quotes About Nostalgia

I love books. They're like a piece of my life I haven't lived yet.

What's there to remember if not the good things?

The picture of her on that sofa with Kat sitting next to her on a blanket with Sarah in her lap is a beautiful image I know I will always remember.

wishing I could go back in time and

If the name Ole Miss evokes football fields and magnolias for its alumni, it evokes tear gas and shotguns for others.

I once had a boyfriend who couldn't write unless he was wearing a necktie and a dress shirt, which I thought was really weird, because this was a long time ago, and no one I knew ever wore dress shirts, let alone neckties it was like he was a grown-up reenacter or something.

I remember, when I was a kid, watching my mother jam herself into her girdle - a piece of equipment so rigid it could stand up on its own - and I remember her coming home from fancy parties and racing upstairs to extricate herself from its cruel iron grip.

In the course of transferring all my CDs to my iPod, I have found myself wandering the musical hallways of my past and reacquainting myself with music I haven't listened to in years.

One of my favorite activities as a teen-ager was to watch television over the phone with my best friend.

If only feelings and ideas and stories and history really could be contained in a block of marble—if only there could be a gathering up of permanence—how reassuring it would be, how comforting to think that something you loved could be held in place, moored and everlasting, rather than bobbing along on the slippery sea of reminiscence, where it could always drift out of reach.

The art critic and philosopher John Berger once said that we like to look at animals because it reminds us of the past and the  agrarian life that included the regular presence of animals.

I was losing her. I found myself wondering whether a shared memory can exist if one of the people sharing it no longer remembers it.

When I miss my mother these days, now that she is gone, I like to picture us in the car together, going for one more magnificent trip to Bertram Woods.

I grew up in libraries, or at least it feels that way.

If you had really loved something, wouldn't a little bit of it always linger?

Even books I don't want, or books that are so worn out and busted that they can't be read any longer, cling to me like thistles.

This was a shrine to being forgotten; to memories sprinkled like salt; ideas vaporized as if they had never been formed; stories evaporated as if they had no substance and no weight keeping them bound to the earth and to each of us, and most of all, to the yet - unfolded future.

If you had really loved something, wouldn't a little bit of it always linger?

The reading of the book was a journey. There was no need for souvenirs.

While very small, unless our childhood was damaged, those around us did their best to keep us absolutely safe, warm, cared for, loved. We leave that behind as we grow to adulthood, but we'll always be looking for it again, always be wanting to recreate the security and the validation that was ours in the early years. 'In love' holds out the promise that our beloved will make us the centre of their world, and for ever. No wonder it's an obsessive compulsion. We

I photograph you every morning In a cruel attempt to capture A formal souvenir of what I love

couldn't help but think that young man probably has never seen the window crank in a car! That's the handle exclusively used to roll down windows before electric windows existed. My twenty-year-old Miata has window cranks, which, I might add, get the job done quite well.

A family's photograph album is generally about the extended family and, often, is all that remains of it.

My library is an archive of longings.