Quotes About Nostalgia

I really like Italy and Inter. When I was a kid I used to watch several leagues and I knew the names of all the greats that have played for this club.

I remember a couple of instrumental albums, just don't ask the names.

My father had all these great names for our cows. Bossy and Daisy and Petunia and Turnip. One of my jobs was to round up the cows before milking. I'd go out back with the dog and bring them in.

I know a lot about Judy Garland. She was born in 1922, and I think she died in '69. When I was little, like, when I was 8, I knew all of her husbands' names.

Just naming Batistuta gives me goosebumps!

I still don't think I've ever read a Nancy Drew book; I probably read three or four 'Hardy Boys' books when I was 10, 11, 12, and I didn't love them at the time. Even then, they felt dated to me, like the word chum - 'my chum and I.' However, the 'Encyclopedia Brown' books, I read all of them.

I didn't have cable television growing up; there were only six channels you could watch then. The only really good channel was channel 10, and they would play 'The Nanny Called Fran' every night for years. I've seen every episode 100 times. I would get my Grandma to make me leopard skin dresses on her sewing machine.

When I was younger I remember rushing back and cooking a meal for the family, and never thinking about having a nap between the shows!

In the 1960s, songs were an integral part of film narration. I have been fortunate to have had some of the best songs of the era picturised on me, some of which gave me an opportunity to use my skills as a dancer too.

One thing I think about a lot is that one of my favorite pieces of narrative art as a child was 'Calvin and Hobbes.' I really saw myself in the character of Calvin. I was rambunctious, I didn't always follow the rules, I had a wild imagination.

I'd love to be a filmmaker and look back and be like, 'Ah, man, we were part of that whole '80s video nasty thing!'

creaked like old bedsprings. Lightning bugs made a trail of yellow specks in the dimming air. He and Boyd used to wait until they blinked, then pull their bodies apart and smear the glowing mush on their faces.

She worried that her best was behind her now.

High? Low. Just like the old days. If you say so.

I knew now that the trouble with the dead wasn't that they overwhelmed you, that they haunted you and stifled you with memories. The trouble with the dead was that they packed up and left you, and there was nothing you could do to bring them back.

Pale as a candle flame in the dusk, tallow-pale, he stalked along, holding her hand, and Louie looked up and beyond him at the enfeebled stars. Thus, for many years, she had seen her father's head, a ghostly earth flame against the heavens, from her little height. Sam looked down on the moon of her face; the dayshine was enough still to light the eyeballs swimming up to him.

It was dangerous to go back, at least for him, to even think of those days when he was too young and had no way to save the dying. He could only whisper to them, tell them not to be afraid, and that someday, he would avenge them.

As he neared the house, a wind rose off the sea and carried sea spray and a lilting melody. Sarah's back. Sarah's home.

We didn't identify with rock stars, we identified with Mouseketeers. Annette, Darlene Gillespie, Cubby O'Brien.

We never came to Oxford Street as kids,' Bryant continued. 'My brother and I used to head to Holborn with our mother to visit the Father Christmas at Gamages department store. I loved that place. You would get into a rocket ship or a paddle steamer and step off in Santa's grotto. That building was a palace of childhood magic. I still can't believe they pulled it down.

It sounds like something you'd find in a pack of tarot cards. Or a Robert Louis Stevenson novel. Certainly not London in the twenty-first century.' 'That's the thing about the backstreets of Bloomsbury. They've barely changed in hundreds of years. They'll probably be the same long after—

How simple things had been, once upon a time. In the era when children still played with Raggedy Ann, life had been so uncomplicated. Or at least it seemed that way. Though he knew, of course, that the past had its share of pain and ugliness.

A melancholy lesson of advancing years is the realisation that you can't make old friends.

It was only when the Britain of great prewar dominions had become a memory that nostalgia for it became possible.