Quotes About Reminiscence

It's funny how you never think about the women you've had. It's always the ones who get away that you can't forget.

Leftovers in their less visible form are called memories. Stored in the refrigerator of the mind and the cupboard of the heart.

Ah, happy hills, ah, pleasing shade, Ah, fields belov'd in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.

She seemed to be gathering something from it, my mother's thoughts and memories, as if such things lay like a film of dust upon the objects we left behind.

We two kept house, the Past and I,The Past and I;Through all my tasks it hovered nigh,Leaving me never alone.

I remember, I rememberThe house where I was born,The little window where the sunCame peeping in at morn.

I have a picture of the Pont Neuf on a wall in my apartment, but i know that Paris is really on the closet shelf, in the box next to the sleeping bag, with the rest of my diaries.

Oft in the stilly night,Ere Slumber's chain has bound me,Fond Memory brings the lightOf other days around me;The smiles, the tears,Of boyhood's years,The words of love then spoken;The eyes that shoneNow dimmed and gone,The cheerful hearts now broken.

You can't go home again

but her mind feels feverish as it races through the crowded hallways of the past

Because I barely survived Shane Hall. I barely survived myself. It was a dark time. My home life was traumatic. I was a chaotic, angry kid. Why reminisce?

He couldn't remember either the names or the addresses or the telephone numbers of two or three staggeringly attractive women he had met: their details were always just out of recall, the fingertips of his memory couldn't reach the shelf they were kept on, so he had no way of tracking down the beauties.

I would have remembered the good stuff. Nobody ever remembers the good stuff.

How many times in your life are you allowed to say, "If only…?

These rare gray afternoons evoke a sweet, childhood melancholy in my soul, like when it rained in kindergarten and we had to stay inside and do crafts with library paste and pipe cleaners and buttons, and I made the best project in the whole class, an ultra-powerful rubber-band zip gun, but the teacher gave me a zero because I got her in the eye with a button.

Hard to imagine now, but remember back when there was only one phone company, and long-distance minutes were droplets of gold? And you'd be traveling out of state and call home to let the folks know you made it okay, and say, 'I'd like to place a person-to-person call to I. M. Safe'? . . .

I don't think nostalgia has to be negative.

Nostalgia is an amazing thing.

Nostalgia is, 'Hey, remember the other mall that used to be there?'

I get flooded with nostalgia, I do. And it's okay. It's a good thing.

I don't play nostalgia acts. I don't play nostalgia shows.

I always find that nostalgia is sort of like memory without the pain. And that's why it feels so good to kind of bask in that, and I think it can be deceptively comforting.

I don't think I've got a problem with nostalgia, because a lot of the time things are self-referential.

Nostalgia is very powerful.