Quotes About Nostalgia

At certain times of the day, and at particular bends in the road or curves of the shore, Cyprus is still so lovely that it takes you by the throat.

Anyone who uses 'childhood' and 'dream' in the same sentence usually gets my attention.

His boredom was like a nostalgia for the whole world. He was homesick for everywhere but here.

I mean, I'm not naive enough to imagine that anyone can be satisfied indefinitely by memories, especially if he's young and full of life, like you. I did my best to help you build up a reserve to keep going on.

Little-boy love...the cleanest pain I've ever known. Love without desire, conditions, or limits - a pure and radiant glow in the heart that could make me giddy and sad and glorious all at once. Where does it go? Why, in all their experiments, did the Magi never try to capture that purity in a bottle? Perhaps they couldn't.

You cannot miss what you have never had.

The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not... but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live in memories.

The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not Ã¢â'¬Â¦ but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories.

the hilltop, Roran halted and crossed his arms. Before him lay the remains of his childhood home. A corner of the house still stood—crumbling and charred—but the rest had been flattened and was already covered with grass and weeds. Nothing could be seen

It was a weak sensation, though: faint as faded regret.

I closed my eyes and took in a big snort of air. It was like someone took a old pot and poured about a hundred gallons of hot apple cider and a hundred gallons of hot coffee into it, then stirred eight or nine sweet potato pies, crusts and all, into that, then let six big steamy meat loafs float on top of all that, then threw in a couple of handfuls of smashed potatoes, then boiled the whole thing on high. This must be exactly how heaven smells!

That was the only part I didn't mind. I loved sticking my nose right on top of Joey's head and smelling all those nice things baked together.

They are all I have left—the stars and the memory of the many times I wished upon them. But with all those wishes, I asked for only one thing. To see him again. But I will not see him again. I do not see him now.

Look at any city through the right memories and it could become a graveyard as haunted as a former battlefield.

I loved idiot paintings, tops of doors, decors, saltimbanques, canvases, signboards, popular engravings, obsolete literature, church Latin, badly-spelled pornographic works, novels by our grandmothers, fairy tales, little children's books, old operas, folk refrains, popular rhythms. —Rimbaud, "A Season in Hell

Si los oías sólo dos veces, los recuerdos de Lou podían parecer monótonos. Si los oías muchas, se convertían en viejos amigos. Eran reconfortantes.

I want to cry. Like a serious mushy cry a middle-school girl might do after her favorite vampire couple has a baby or something.

Mother used to shape and score the Spam, arrange the rings of pineapple, then pour a little maple syrup over it and bake it so that it came out looking almost exactly like a miniature glazed ham, and we used to have it with yams on which we melted margarine.

Once there was a time when more girls than boys read comics, a time when comics for girls sold in the millions, outnumbering every other kind of comic book. And it all started with Archie .

We often fool ourselves into believing that the "good old days" were actually good, but this is far from the truth.

It was a day-by-day record of a Guild much younger and smaller than the current one. After several pages, she had grown fond of the record-keeper, who clearly admired the people he was writing about.

It was awkward, revisiting a world you have never seen before: like coming home, after a long journey, to someone else's house.

Is it possible to say It was a beautiful morning at the end of November without feeling like Snoopy?

Memory is a stopgap for humans, for whom time flies and what is passed is passed.