Quotes About Nostalgia

Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.

?sviçre da?lar?ndakine benzeyen o mavi sisi an?ms?yor ve biliyorum. Bu sis, çocuklu?un bitmek üzere oldu?u o kayg?s?z dönemde her ?eyin üstünü kaplar ve o çok büyük, mutlu, ne?eli dairenin içinden gittikçe daralan bir yol ç?kar, ???kl? ve güzel görünse de bu dar yola girmek hem keyifli, hem de müthi? bir ?eydir.

We sometimes condemn the present, by praising the past; and show our contempt of what is now, by our esteem for what is no more.

I'm definitely a Polaroid camera girl. For me, what I'm really excited about is bringing back the artistry and the nature of Polaroid.

I'm working on bringing the instant film camera back as part of the future.

Memory seldom fails when its office is to show us the tombs of our buried hopes.

New Orleans is a place that actually resembles no other city on the face of the earth, yet it recalls vague memories of a hundred cities.

I'm German in my mind, but from a Germany that doesn't exist anymore.

Now winds are wild, and sere leaves fall; A dying glory mantles all; I sit and watch the tears of rain Steal slowly down the window-pane. The wailing of the Autumn blast Stirs many a dead leaf of the Past Within my soul; I seem to hear The wan lips of the dying year, Mournfully, oh, mournfully, Chant a low, sad melody!

My tears fall inward on my heart, And, dew-like, keep its memories green: Sad strains, unheard by other ears, Break forth for me from lips unseen.

You miss Azemmur, she said. Yes, I said. And I have grown so used to the pain of missing it that sometimes I feel as though I have learnt to walk after an imputation. But now, Oyomasot, it is as if I can sense that severed limb again.

It was funny, she thought, but her smile turned wistful because she had nobody to tell.

Once upon a time, there had been gods. Now there were only children going about in their dead parents' undergarments.

He had loved the library, and had felt, as a boy, as though it had a kind of sentience, and perhaps loved him back.

How quaint that life seemed now, like something you could fit inside a snow globe.

Walking through, Karou experienced it all in a rush of old and new experience that was like the convergence of two swift rivers: Madrigal's memory and Karou's marvel, merging at every step.

Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played.

He'd felt this before and never wanted to feel it again. It could only diminish the memory of Madrigal; it already was. Again his memory failed to conjure her face. It was like trying to call up a melody while another song played

Arata ca o papusa care , ani de-a randul , zacuse neiubita int-o lada cu jucarii.

Ibland är frånvaron nästan fysiskt närvarande [...]. Frånvaro likt nedtrampat, vissnat gräs där något har funnits men inte finns kvar. Frånvaro där en tråd blivit bortsliten ur en bonad och lämnat efter sig ett hål som aldrig kan lagas (s. 475).

Memories can be trapped in a room.

On the riverfront thoroughfare, trams and buses roared past, grounding the day in the twenty-first century, but on the quieter lanes, the wintry peace might have hailed from another time.

Evening backward leadeth silence.

The miracle of it is this: how little things from such a long time ago can still be remembered as if they had occurred only yesterday.