Quotes About Nostalgia

E poi ci sono quelli che credono che le vecchie relazioni possano essere rivissute e fatte nuove. Ma perfavore se ti senti in quel modo non chiamare non scrivere non arrivare...

we each at times should remember the most elevated and lucky moment of our lives.

now they are celebrating my demise in taverns I no longer frequent.

the trouble with the famous is that they must be replaced and they can never quite be replaced, and that gives us this unique sadness.

when we were kids there was a strange house all the shades were always drawn and we never heard voices in there and the yard was full of bamboo and we liked to play in the bamboo pretend we were Tarzan (although

in the most decent sometimes sun there is the softsmoke feeling from urns and the canned sound of old battleplanes and if you go inside and run your finger along the window ledge you'll find dirt, maybe even earth. and if you look out the window there will be the day, and as you get older you'll keep looking keep looking sucking your tongue in a little ah ah no no maybe some do it naturally some obscenely everywhere.

The '67 model was the last good Volks—and the young men knew it. "Hepburn, they stole our fucking car." "Oh Hank, surely not!" "It's gone. It was sitting there." I pointed. "Now it's gone." "Hank, what will we do?" "We'll take a taxi. I really feel bad." "Why do people do that?" "They have to. It's their way out." We

In a letter to Thomas Jefferson, the aging John Adams recalled the Massachusetts of his youth as a multiracial society. "Aaron Pomham the Priest and Moses Pomham the Kind of the Punkapaug and Neponsit Tribes were frequent Visitors at my Father's House Ã¢â'¬Â¦," he wrote nostalgically.

Regrets are idle; yet history is one long regret. Everything might have turned out so differently!

After a time, though, Inman found that he had left the book and was simply forming the topography of home in his head. Cold Mountain, all its ridges and coves and watercourses. Pigeon River, Little East Fork, Sorrell Cove, Deep Gap, Fire Scald Ridge. He knew their names and said them to himself like the words of spells and incantations to ward off the things one fears most.

We all reach a point where we would like to draw a line across time and declare everything on the far side null. Shed our past life like a pair of wet and muddy trousers, just roll their heavy clinging fabric down our legs and step away. We also reach a point where we would give the rest of our withering days for the month of July in our seventeenth year. But no thread of Ariadne exists to lead us back there.

How embarrassing that she ever did something that silly. But, good God, she was seventeen. At that age, we're mostly high-pitched and crazy. All urgent chemicals raging around the blood course. And that's why we do dangerous and embarrassing things, as if simultaneously we're immortal and going to die tomorrow. And that's why we look back on that time so fondly from the dimmer years to come. Remembering the days when we were like Greek gods. Mighty and idiotic.

From inside the tavern came the sounds of a fiddle being tuned, various plucks and tentative bowings, then a slow and groping attempt at Aura Lee, interrupted every few notes by unplanned squeaks and howls. Nevertheless the beautiful and familiar tune was impervious to poor performance, and Inman thought how painfully young it sounded, as if the pattern of its notes allowed no room to imagine a future clouded and tangled and diminished.

He liked brown antiquated travel books describing trips that weren't possible anymore - explorations of the Western Hemisphere back when much of it was still unmapped.

She draws a long deep breath and hums a bit of "Sunflower Slow Drag," her fingers twitching to press imaginary keys. Soon she falls asleep.

This is rural England, after all; please set your watch back thirty years 

Her father stood stiffly, as if his knees ached. Of a sudden Evie realized that he was, in fact, old: or at least middle-aged, which from a twenty-three-year-old perspective was the same thing. Hair thinning and graying to ashy silver, belly sagging over the waistband of the jeans he wore on his day off, a reminder that he'd met her mother after a rock concert in 1980.

and not getting to hang out at a theatrical troupe's after-party with Cassie. (Who he gloomily realizes he will never see again

I have left a part of me wherever I have lain my head, including my youth. What remains will be satisfied to go home.

The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears.

I loved you on this day. I love this memory. [(2004), Dir. Michel Gondry]

I cannot imagine that I will ever come home for a homecoming game after I leave here, but it was fun to pretend that I was.

The last time I bumped into an ex-boyfriend was at three o'clock in the morning at Rite Aid. I was ringing up Gas-X and corn removers.

He saw himself and his fathers crowding round their ancestral shrine waiting in vain for worship and sacrifice and finding nothing but ashes of bygone days..