Quotes About Nostalgia

[A Polaroid camera] places before you a thing that is more of the thing than the thing was.

I try to describe you to the river. I say you're a snag— Something the river can understand—catching my heart, That I'm rowing without oars, that this is some trip, Never able to leave you, bracing hard against swirls That confuse me, that the whole ghostly place seems like a trap Without bait, that nothing arrives anyplace near Where you and I once wanted to be. from "The Little Ghosts I Played with

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

Remember when atmospheric contaminants were romantically called stardust?

There's something about a place you've been with someone you love. It takes on a meaning in your mind. It becomes more than a place. It becomes a distillation of what you felt for each other. The moments you spend in a place with someone... they become part of its bricks and mortar. Part of its soul.

Their grandchildren had reminded Will of the song about demon pox he had taught them- when they were much too young, Tessa had always thought- and that they had all memorized. They sang it all together and out of tune, scandalizing Sophie.

You had every right to be. He raised his eyes to look at her and she was suddenly and strangely reminded of being four years old at the beach, crying when the wind came up and blew away the castle she had made. Her mother had told her she could make another one if she liked, but it hadn't stopped her crying because what she had thought was permanent was not permanent after all, but only made out of sand that vanished at the touch of wind and water.

He broke up with me." "Because you weren't in love with him. That's an iffy proposition, and I think he's handling with grace. A lot of teenage boys would sulk, or lurk around under your window with a boom box." "No one has a boom box anymore. That was the eighties.

There were some memories, though, that never faded.

If only Simon were here. He could probably bore you to sleep.

The Queen sniffed. "I rather miss your Jace," she said. "Of all of you, he was the prettiest and the best-mannered.

There were some feelings you never forgot.

Memories can be bitter as well as sweet.

I don't remember everything," he said. "Not yet. But I remember you." He brought her hand up, touched the gold ring on her right index finger, the Fair Folk metal warm to the touch. "Clary," he said. "You're Clary. You're my best friend.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.

Their beauty had always seemed to him like the beauty of pressed flowers-lovely, but dead.

I remember you saying that growing up happens when you start having things you look back on and wish you could change.I guess that means I've grown up now...

The man could kiss. She'd thought his kisses were irresistible all those years ago when she'd been young and naive. Now, as an adult, she knew she'd never be able to resist him or his kiss.

I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry.

I always knew looking back on the tears would make me laugh, but I never knew looking back on the laughs would make me cry.

I was a kid once. When you meet my dad, ask him about the time my brother and I decided we wanted a yellow lab instead of a black one and spray-painted the dog.

Speaking of pits in plum pudding, do you remember your sister's first attempt? Your grandfather broke off his only remaining tooth trying to eat it." "And swallowed tooth, pit and all, so he wouldn't embarrass her in front of Gray Horse, who had come to court her.

For some reason, he belonged more in Wisconsin. Because of me, because I was there. Not that I ever managed to talk to him for more than ten minutes, and not that I ever had the nerve to ask him out. But still, I loved him. Deeply.

for the days of age are not only much shorter than those in youth, but they rush away from you at a frightening rate. Take a day: a day in youth is an experience, and the last hour is as far away as a child's Christmas; a day in age is but a dim memory in a week that is already gone. At