Quotes About Nostalgia

The richness of life lies in memories we have forgotten.

Childhood is not only the childhood we really had but also the impressions we formed of it in our adolescence and maturity. That is why childhood seems so long. Probably every period of life is multiplied by our reflections upon the next.

It is not that the child lives in a world of imagination, but that the child within us survives and starts into life only at rare moments of recollection, which makes us believe, and it is not true, that, as children, we were imaginative?

I ragazzi, le donne, il mondo, non sono mica cambiati. Non portano più il parasole, la domenica vanno al cinema invece che in festa, danno il grano all'ammasso, le ragazze fumano - eppure la vita è la stessa, e non sanno che un giorno si guarderanno in giro e anche per loro sarò tutto passato.

Meanwhile we arrived at our lane and the sight of the olive tree rubbed me the wrong way. I began to see that no spot is less habitable than a place where one has been happy.

Mentre aspettavo mi guardavo intorno: l'intonaco scabro nella luce, un ciuffo d'erba sul terrazzo contro il cielo, il gran silenzio meridiano. Nello strepito del carro che s'allontanava, pensai che quelli per Oreste erano luoghi familiari, c'era nato e cresciuto, dovevano dirgli chi sa che. Pensai quanti luoghi ci sono nel mondo che appartengono così a qualcuno, che qualcuno ha nel sangue e nessun altro li sa.

Della mia infanzia non mi restava altro che l'estate. Le vie strette che sbucavano nei campi da ogni parte, di giorno e di sera, erano i cancelli della vita e del mondo.

Non è bello essere bambini: è bello da anziani pensare a quando eravamo bambini.

Ca s? suporÅ£i amintirile din copil?rie ale altcuiva trebuie s? fii îndr?gostit de el.

The villages he'd played in were all around us, bright and leafy in the sunshine, nests of stars in the night sky.

Un passato deve essere tanto familiare da poterlo rivivere meccanicamente e tanto inaspettato da farci stupire ogni volta che vi ritorniamo: allora è adatto alla fantasia.

I liked the faces, too, the same as I'd always seen them; the old wrinkled women, the cautious oxen, the girls with flowers, the roofs of the dove-cotes. It seemed as if only seasons had passed since I saw them last, not years.

We don't remember days,we remember moments.

Quello era tutto il mio passato, insopportabile eppure così diverso, così morto. M'ero detta tante volte in quegli anni - e poi più avanti, ripensandoci - che lo scopo della mia vita era proprio di riuscire, di diventare qualcuna, per tornare un giorno in quelle viuzze dov'ero stata bambina e godermi il calore, lo stupore, l'ammirazione di quei visi familiari, di quella piccola gente. E c'ero riuscita, tornavo; e le facce la priccola gente eran tutti scomparsi.

I would give most anything to hear my father's talk again, the crash and bang and stop of his language, always hurtling by. I will listen for him forever in the streets of this city.

Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses.

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.

Remembering is only a new form of suffering.

Every relationship has at least one really good day. What I mean is, no matter how sour things go, there's always that day. That day is always in your possession. That's the day you remember. You get old and you think: well, at least I had that day. It happened once. You think all the variables might just line up again. But they don't. Not always. I once talked to a woman who said, "Yeah, that's the day we had an angel around.

In February, the overcast sky isn't gloomy so much as neutral and vague. It's a significant factor in the common experience of depression among the locals. The snow crunches under your boots and clings to your trousers, to the cuffs, and once you're inside, the snow clings to you psyche, and eventually you have to go to the doctor. The past soaks into you in this weather because the present is missing almost entirely.

The floor behind the driver's seat was littered with eight-tracks, but at night it was always Frampton Comes Alive!

My father, Tom Sheeran, would borrow a big old clumsy car with a running board.

A posthumously, everyone loves us. (A titre posthume, - Tout le monde nous aime)

But the little girl growing up still hisses a tune, that of the cottage train. (Mais la petite fille qui grandit siffle toujours un air, celui du train de la chaumière)"