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5e91e0c "The Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering." So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return." vocabulary nostalgia Milan Kundera
47e456a "There is no greater sorrow À-la-recherche-du-temps-perdu italian-medieval-poetry nostalgia Dante Alighieri
0bb5f54 It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched for they are full of the truthless ideal which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real, they are bruised and wounded. It looks as if they were victims of a conspiracy; for the books they read, ideal by the necessity of selection, and the conversation of their elders, who look back upon the past through a rosy haze of forgetfulness, prepare them for an unreal life. They must discover for themselves that all they have read and all they have been told are lies, lies, lies; and each discovery is another nail driven into the body on the cross of life. youth truth ideals real nostalgia W. Somerset Maugham
7281db1 Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being. rebellion revolt innocence nostalgia Albert Camus
7683a94 I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled. love_of_reading nostalgia Diane Setterfield
d0df863 What you end up remembering isn't always the same as what you have witnessed. nostalgia Julian Barnes
1d4828a Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring. seasons life spring desire wanderlust nostalgia Vladimir Nabokov
3b647e7 These fragments I have shored against my ruins past fall aging nostalgia T.S. Eliot
b5d1c4c The times you lived through, the people you shared those times with -- nothing brings it all to life like an old mix tape. It does a better job of storing up memories than actual brain tissue can do. Every mix tape tells a story. Put them together, and they can add up to the story of a life. music nostalgia Rob Sheffield
31ccbc6 Real museums are places where Time is transformed into Space. time love museum space nostalgia Orhan Pamuk
cc9f0d2 Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar... nostalgia William Faulkner
1a9cb29 Memory believes before knowing remembers. [Light in August] nostalgia William Faulkner
a14f0b2 when we were kids laying around the lawn on our bellies we often talked about how we'd like to die and we all agreed on the same thing; we'd all like to die fucking (although none of us had done any fucking) and now that we are hardly kids any longer we think more about how not to die and although we're ready most of us would prefer to do it alone under the sheets now that most of us have fucked our lives away. kids sex poem poetry death life love bukowski growing-up die nostalgia Charles Bukowski
8b59221 When you start thinking about what your life was like 10 years ago--and not in general terms, but in highly specific detail--it's disturbing to realize how certain elements of your being are completely dead. They die long before you do. It's astonishing to consider all the things from your past that used to happen all the time but (a) never happen anymore, and (b) never even cross your mind. It's almost like those things didn't happen. Or maybe it seems like they just happened to someone else. To someone you don't really know. To someone you just hung out with for one night, and now you can't even remember her name. living regret remembering nostalgia Chuck Klosterman
76a3c4a Nostalgia is a necessary thing, I believe, and a way for all of us to find peace in that which we have accomplished, or even failed to accomplish. At the same time, if nostalgia precipitates actions to return to that fabled, rosy-painted time, particularly in one who believes his life to be a failure, then it is an empty thing, doomed to produce nothing but frustration and an even greater sense of failure. time actions fables necessary peace failure frustration nostalgia R.A. Salvatore
ad2eda1 Looking at the elementary schoolers in their colorful T-shirts from various day camps, Percy felt a twinge of sadness. He should be at Camp Half-Blood right now, settling into his cabin for the summer, teaching sword-fighting lessons in the arena, playing pranks on the other counselors. These kids had no idea just how crazy a summer camp could be. home percy-jackson percy-jackson-and-the-olympians the-mark-of-athena the-heroes-of-olympus nostalgia Rick Riordan
85a81e3 It shocks me how I wish for...what is lost and cannot come back. nostalgia Sue Monk Kidd
05aa739 People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile. memories love nostalgia Haruki Murakami
b87a93b I get sentimental over the music of the '90s. Deplorable, really. But I love it all. As far as I'm concerned the '90s was the best era for music ever, even the stuff that I loathed at the time, even the stuff that gave me stomach cramps. nostalgia Rob Sheffield
7a64f44 It's one thing to develop a nostalgia for home while you're boozing with Yankee writers in Martha's Vineyard or being chased by the bulls in Pamplona. It's something else to go home and visit with the folks in Reed's drugstore on the square and actually listen to them. The reason you can't go home again is not because the down-home folks are mad at you--they're not, don't flatter yourself, they couldn't care less--but because once you're in orbit and you return to Reed's drugstore on the square, you can stand no more than fifteen minutes of the conversation before you head for the woods, head for the liquor store, or head back to Martha's Vineyard, where at least you can put a tolerable and saving distance between you and home. Home may be where the heart is but it's no place to spend Wednesday afternoon. homecoming small-town nostalgia Walker Percy
2717a33 I'm your phantom dance partner. I'm your shadow. I'm not anything more. love parallel darkness-and-light nostalgia Haruki Murakami
a8c42d1 In theory momentos serve to bring back the moment. In fact they serve only to make clear how inadequately I appreciated the moment when it was here. How inadequately I appreciated the moment when it was here is something else I could never afford to see. momentos nostalgia Joan Didion
8c74f77 And so their memories took on potential, which is of course how our greatest nostalgias are born. nostalgia Mohsin Hamid
50dc823 For children, childhood is timeless. It is always the present. Everything is in the present tense. Of course, they have memories. Of course, time shifts a little for them and Christmas comes round in the end. But they don't feel it. Today is what they feel, and when they say 'When I grow up,' there is always an edge of disbelief--how could they ever be other than what they are? time time-passing innocence childhood nostalgia Ian McEwan
6f04588 I would never see her again, except in memory. She was here, and now she's gone. There is no middle ground. Probably is a word that you may find south of the border. But never, ever west of the sun. memory nostalgia Haruki Murakami
8f38f03 He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in. nostalgia Thomas Pynchon
6b7a76b "Haven't you noticed, too, on the part of nearly everyone you know, a growing rebellion against the present? And an increasing longing for the past? I have. Never before in all my long life have I heard so many people wish that they lived 'at the turn of the century,' or 'when life was simpler,' or 'worth living,' or 'when you could bring children into the world and count on the future,' or simply 'in the good old days.' People didn't talk that way when I was young! The present was a glorious time! But they talk that way now. For the first time in man's history, man is desperate to escape the present. Our newsstands are jammed with escape literature, the very name of which is significant. Entire magazines are devoted to fantastic stories of escape - to other times, past and future, to other worlds and planets - escape to anywhere but here and now. Even our larger magazines, book publishers and Hollywood are beginning to meet the rising demand for this kind of escape. Yes, there is a craving in the world like a thirst, a terrible mass pressure that you can almost feel, of millions of minds struggling against the barriers of time. I am utterly convinced that this terrible mass pressure of millions of minds is already, slightly but definitely, affecting time itself. In the moments when this happens - when the almost universal longing to escape is greatest - my incidents occur. Man is disturbing the clock of time, and I am afraid it will break. When it does, I leave to your imagination the last few hours of madness that will be left to us; all the countless moments that now make up our lives suddenly ripped apart and chaotically tangled in time. Well, I have lived most of my life; I can be robbed of only a few more years. But it seems too bad - this universal craving to escape what could be a rich, productive, happy world. We live on a planet well able to provide a decent life for every soul on it, which is all ninety-nine of a hundred human beings ask. Why in the world can't we have it? ("I'm Scared")" present past escapist escapism modernity nostalgia Jack Finney
3d96c6b What was our life like? I almost don't remember now. Though I remember , the space of time it occupied. And I remember it fondly. marriage memories memory nostalgia Richard Ford
e7356f8 "Freedom, "that terrible word inscribed on the chariot of the storm," is the motivating principle of all revolutions. Without it, justice seems inconceivable to the rebel's mind. There comes a time, however, when justice demands the suspension of freedom. Then terror, on a grand or small scale, makes its appearance to consummate the revolution. Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being. But one day nostalgia takes up arms and assumes the responsibility of total guilt; in other words, adopts murder and violence." rebellion justice revolution guilt terror nostalgia Albert Camus
76b84d0 She knew with suddeness and ease that this moment would be with her always, within hand's reach of memory. She doubted if they all sensed it - they had seen the world - but even George was silent for a minute as they looked, and the scene, the smell, even the sound of the band playing a faintly recognisable movie theme, was locked forever in her, and she was at peace. memory nostalgia Stephen King
083c929 I was right when I said I'd never look back. It hurts too much, it drags at your heart till you can't ever do anything else except look back. pain nostalgia Margaret Mitchell
0c0bdef Siempre es levemente siniestro volver a los lugares que han sido testigos de un instante de perfeccion inspiracion nostalgia Ernesto Sabato
109c8c1 "If you are a dreamer, come in, If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer... If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire For we have some flax-golden tales to spin. dreams happiness crete jack-r-kearns mrs-sjostrom third-grade greece nostalgia Shel Silverstein
250a124 I became quietly seized with that nostalgia that overcomes you when you have reached the middle of your life and your father has recently died and it dawns on you that when he went he took some of you with him. middle-age parents nostalgia Bill Bryson
99b0ce5 "Now that lilacs are in bloom She has a bowl of lilacs in her room And twists one in her fingers while she talks. "Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know What life is, you who hold it in your hands"; (slowly twisting the lilac stalks) "You let it flow from you, you let it flow, And youth is cruel, and has no remorse And smiles at situations which it cannot see." I smile, of course, And go on drinking tea." youth remorse tea nostalgia T.S. Eliot
9d481d8 Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty. memories eight childhood-memories nostalgia Jenny Han
0e6da23 In her final years she would still recall the trip that, with the perverse lucidity of nostalgia, became more and more recent in her memory. recollection nostalgia Gabriel García Márquez
7c121fb I don't like being with grown-up people. I've known that a long time. I don't like it because I don't know how to get on with them. kids youth growing-up teachers teach teaching nostalgia Fyodor Dostoyevsky
6b24971 How can days and happenings and moments so good become so quickly ugly, and for no reason, for no real reason? Just - change. With nothing causing it. memories nostalgia Philip K. Dick
e8d39ec Some of my relatives held on to imagined memories the way homeless people hold onto lottery tickets. Nostalgia was their crack cocaine, if you will, and my childhood was littered with the consequences of their addiction : unserviceable debts, squabbles over inheritances, the odd alcoholic or suicide. nostalgia Mohsin Hamid
8a465c0 For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it would come over her, If he were with me now what would he say? --some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared for people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning--indeed they did. memories nostalgia Virginia Woolf
f71452c Writing from memory like this, I often feel a pang of dread. What if I've forgotten the most important thing? What if somewhere inside me there is a dark limbo where all the the truly important memories are heaped and slowly turning into mud? memories writing memory nostalgia Haruki Murakami
635ff2a Pourquoi nier l'evidente necessite de la memoire? nostalgia Marguerite Duras
591e36b Sebastian is in love with his own childhood. That will make him very unhappy. nostalgia Evelyn Waugh
ce4c03e Hey presto: time travel. You don't need a time machine, it turns out, you just need a friend to laugh like a teenager. Chronology shivers. growing-older nostalgia Michael Marshall Smith
0138d84 This was before voice mail, recorded phone messages you can't escape. Life was easier then. You just didn't pick up the phone. life telephone technology nostalgia Joyce Carol Oates
124b1c3 I'll remember you... I remember everyone I've lost. grief loss love photo-album photograph think noir remember sad memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
18b0bf8 It partook ... of eternity ... there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out (she glanced at the window with its ripple of reflected lights) in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby; so that again tonight she had the feeling she had had once today, already, of peace, of rest. Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that endures. peace nostalgia Virginia Woolf
d116095 photographs are very interesting, and you can look into them a million times and still find a new meaning in them, something in the past that was caught in the film itself... photography grief loss romance joy meaning past love fujifilm nikon kodak kodachrome super-8 canon photo capture film knowledge nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
de1c914 "You're innocent until proven guilty," Mandy exclaimed, unable to hide her gleeful smile. She missed the way people used to have normal conversations, used to be more caring for each other than themselves, back in the Seventies and Eighties. These days, she realized, neighbors kept to themselves, their kids kept to themselves, nobody talked to each other anymore. They went to work, went shopping and shut themselves up at home in front of glowing computer screens and cellphones... but maybe the nostalgic, better times in her life would stay buried, maybe the world would never be what it was. In the 21st century music was bad, movies were bad, society was failing and there were very few intelligent people left who missed the way things used to be... maybe though, Mandy could change things. Thinking back to the old home movies in her basement, she recalled what Alecto had told her. "We wanted more than anything else in the world to be normal, but we failed." The 1960's and 1970's were very strange times, but Mandy missed it all, she missed the days when Super-8 was the popular film type, when music had lyrics that made you think, when movies had powerful meanings instead of bad comedy and when people would just walk to a friend's house for the afternoon instead of texting in bed all day. She missed soda fountains and department stores and non-biodegradable plastic grocery bags, she wished cellphones, bad pop music and LED lights didn't exist... she hated how everything had a diagnosis or pill now, how people who didn't fit in with modern, lazy society were just prescribed medications without a second thought... she hated how old, reliable cars were replaced with cheap hybrid vehicles... she hated how everything could be done online, so that people could just ignore each other... the world was becoming much more convenient, but at the same time, less human, and her teenage life was considered nostalgic history now. Hanging her head low, avoiding the slightly confused stare of the cab driver through the rear view mirror, she started crying uncontrollably, her tears soaking the collar of her coat as the sun blared through the windows in a warm light." earth grief loss death convenient old-school reporter taxi retro cape-breton nova-scotia stuck moving digital medications leaving-home environment canada cars stop crying gone misery trapped lonely sad crazy insane dying mental-illness nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
84ef879 There are the girls we love, the men we look up to, the tenderness, the friendships, the opportunities, the pleasures! But the fact remains that you must touch your reward with clean hands, lest it turn to dead leaves, to thorns, in your grasp. grief futility depression hope dark-history falling-short haunted-past smoke-in-the-eyes why-the-world-needs-jesus unrest pointlessness bittersweet-memories sins heartache vanity disappointment expectations despair regrets nostalgia Joseph Conrad
6ff63d7 The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes. nostalgia Vladimir Nabokov
b7348b0 Comely was the town by the curving river that they dismantled in a year's time. Beautiful was Colleton in her last spring as she flung azaleas like a girl throwing rice at a desperate wedding. In dazzling profusion, Colleton ripened in a gauze of sweet gardens and the town ached beneath a canopy of promissory fragrance. south-carolina spring small-town nostalgia Pat Conroy
4440d30 "Yeah, you're right about having entire rooms full of film and photos... in that Sydney Mines house I have a darkroom, I have boxes of film and home movie footage... I have a few projectors, I have piles of Kodachrome slides... I like photographs. The world is always running away from society and the only way to keep the stuff that's happened in the past is by taking photographs, I can keep memories of things alive with photographs," Alecto responded. "People say that a time machine can't be invented, but they've already invented a device that can stop time, cameras are the world's first time machines... The steel mill, the coal mines, the train tracks, the smog in the sky, I've been able to rescue it on super-8 and Kodachrome, and no one can remediate those photographs, I can keep them as long as I want to." memories industrial polaroid steel-mill kodak coal-mine darkroom kodachrome cape-breton super-8 nova-scotia photograph smog photo digital coal pollution train capture film nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
5b6e457 Smells could bring a person back clearer than pictures even could. life smell nostalgia Anne Tyler
f2d9521 I have never forgotten, and I can't imagine you have, and I've thought of it over the years. It was so good, when it was good, I kept thinking. How could it go wrong? nostalgia George R.R. Martin
6cafa38 No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory - this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. ... Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? ... And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Leonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. And all from my cup of tea. memory-trigger metafiction self french infinite novel memory nostalgia Marcel Proust
8fff1c2 The baby explodes into an unknown world that is only knowable through some kind of a story - of course that is how we all live, it's the narrative of our lives, but adoption drops you into the story after it has started. It's like reading a book with the first few pages missing. It's like arriving after curtain up. The feeling that something is missing never, ever leaves you - and it can't, and it shouldn't, because something IS missing. That isn't of its nature negative. The missing part, the missing past, can be an opening, not a void. It can be an entry as well as an exit. It is the fossil record, the imprint of another life, and although you can never have that life, your fingers trace the space where it might have been, and your fingers learn a kind of Braille. life opening narrative birth longing-for-death nostalgia Jeanette Winterson
16265aa And except on a certain kind of winter evening--six-thirty in the Seventies, say, already dark and bitter with a wind off the river, when I would be walking very fast toward a bus and would look in the bright windows of brownstones and see cooks working in clean kitchens and and imagine women lighting candles on the floor above and beautiful children being bathed on the floor above that--except on nights like those, I never felt poor; I had the feeling that if I needed money I could always get it. new-york nostalgia Joan Didion
46c6172 This mournful and restless sound was a fit accompaniment to my meditations. suicide mourning depression empathy sadness music heartbreak heart love mournful ruminating tradgedy lost-love thinking regret lost nostalgia Joseph Conrad
181fc05 "We were poor back then. Not living in a cardboard carton poor, not "we might have to eat the dog" poor, but still poor. Poor like, no insurance poor, and going to McDonald's was a really big excitement poor, wearing socks for gloves in the winter poor, and collecting nickels and dimes from the washing machine because she never got allowance, that kind of poor... poor enough to be nostalgic about poverty. So, when my mom and dad took me here for my tenth birthday, it was a really big deal. They'd saved up for two months to take me to the photography store and they bought me a Kodak Instamatic film camera... I really miss those days, because we were still a real family back then... this mall doesn't even have a film photography store anymore, just a cell phone and digital camera store, it's depressing..." poverty future past cardboard coins washing-machine instamatic kodak cape-breton nova-scotia mcdonald-s camera digital birthday mall canada nostalgic shopping film poor insurance wishes dog nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
cd15dac Film photography will always be superior to digital - because no matter how many lasers and instant buttons and HD pixels you've got, a human being can take a photograph with much more integrity and meaning than one a built-in robot took. photography history magic nature human future compassion cellulod hd kodak instant robot camera photo digital art film nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
2f3a6dc "I love the smell of old books," Mandy sighed, inhaling deeply with the book pressed against her face. The yellow pages smelled of wood and paper mills and mothballs." -- reading dream books mothballs paper-mill smell-of-books vintage smell old surreal nerd wood nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
c6fbe44 In her eyes was the reflection of everything that mattered: old diners with neon signs, vinyl records, celluloid film, drive-in movies, Pears soap, department stores, her brother's old blue Camaro car and the smell of coal dust in the rainy sky of a summer lightning storm. ...And all the nice bright colors of the past that she thought were gone for good came flowing back into her life like a wave of nostalgia flooding over her, reds, yellows, blues and greens drenching her gray memories in psychedelic ribbons and glittering fireworks. ...She hoped that the world would always hold those miniscule yet beautiful, deep and mysterious traces of memory. earth world rurl found-footage kodak bright colors mystery beautiful memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
6dbf94d Sometimes, without effort, you live in the moment. You don't regret the past or worry about the future, and in that moment everything flashes before your eyes , a clear snapshot of what has to be done, and everything pauses. photography time dream future past imagination life snapshot kodak-moment pause clear clarity worry moment regret nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
ff9d158 The path of memory is neither straight or safe, and we travel down it at our risk. never-going-back nostalgia Neil Gaiman
8af855c At least I rescued your poor hot dog. madness grief funny humor disturbing frightening ghoul gives-me-the-willies savior pyrokinesis sleepaway-camp summer-camp wiener wiener-roast goosebumps spooky hot-dog rescue coming-of-age teenage lord fire ghost scary teen lonely laugh nostalgia R.L. Stine
9bb0721 And I'll look back at him because I shan't be able to help it, remembering about being young, and about being made love to and making love, about pain and dancing and not being afraid of death, about all music I've ever loved, and every time I've been happy. youth music love nostalgia Jean Rhys
88e936d He smelled the odor of the pine boughs under him, the piney smell of the crushed needles and the sharper odor of the resinous sap from the cut limbs. ... This is the smell I love. This and fresh-cut clover, the crushed sage as you ride after cattle, wood-smoke and the burning leaves of autumn. That must be the odor of nostalgia, the smell of the smoke from the piles of raked leaves burning in the streets in the fall in Missoula. Which would you rather smell? Sweet grass the Indians used in their baskets? Smoked leather? The odor of the ground in the spring after rain? The smell of the sea as you walk through the gorse on a headland in Galicia? Or the wind from the land as you come in toward Cuba in the dark? That was the odor of cactus flowers, mimosa and the sea-grape shrubs. Or would you rather smell frying bacon in the morning when you are hungry? Or coffee in the morning? Or a Jonathan apple as you bit into it? Or a cider mill in the grinding, or bread fresh from the oven? robert-jordan for-whom-the-bell-tolls odor-of-nostalgia nostalgia Ernest Hemingway
3baf9b0 Walk with me, memory to memory, the shared path, the mutual view. Walk with me. The past lies in wait. It is not behind. It seems to be in front. How else could it trip me as as I start to run? loss memories past love trip nostalgia Jeanette Winterson
be67ef2 This is my home, Cape Breton is my home, and I don't know if I really want to leave it as much as I might think and I'm sort of scared to leave it all behind, everything I've lived with, I have so many memories of all the things I've done here and I'm afraid if I leave, I might lose all my memories... loss travel cape-breton nova-scotia moving leaving home scary remember memory scared nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
e8e046a She ordered a martini and encouraged me to, but said she couldn't drink it with her medication. She just liked seeing it in front of her, like the old days, all set to do its little magic. memories life siblings nostalgia Richard Ford
bd351aa ...TV was entertainment of the last resort. There was nothing on during the day in the summer other than game shows and soap operas. Besides, a TV-watching child was considered available for chores: take out the trash, clean your room, pick up that mess, fold those towels, mow the lawn... the list was endless. We all became adept at chore-avoidance. Staying out of sight was a reliable strategy. Drawing or painting was another: to my mother, making art trumped making beds. A third choir-avoidance technique was to read. A kid with his or her nose in a book is a kid who is not fighting, yelling, throwing, breaking things, bleeding, whining, or otherwise creating a Mom-size headache. Reading a book was almost like being invisible - a good thing for all concerned. 1960s-nostalgia chores growing-up summer nostalgia Pete Hautman
c076b65 "I was born in the age of "alas"." -- nostalgia Pat Conroy
fdc9661 All you will have is the present. Waste no energy crying over yesterday or dreaming of tomorrow. Nostalgia is fatiguing and destructive, it is the vice of the expatriate. You must put down roots as if they were forever, you must have a sense of permanence. live-in-the-present nostalgia Isabel Allende
1ec1a89 We drove down Corydon avenue towards my mother's apartment. How are you doing, she asked me? Fine, fine, I said. I wanted to tell her that I felt I was dying from rage and that I felt guilty about everything and that when I was a kid I woke up every morning singing, that I couldn't wait to leap out of bed and rush out of the house into the magical kingdom that was my world, that dust made visible in sunbeams gave me real authentic joy, that my sparkly golden banana-seated bike with the very high sissy bar took my breath away, the majesty of it, that it was mine, that there was no freer soul in the world than me at age nine, and that now I wake up every morning reminding myself that control is an illusion, taking deep breaths and counting to ten trying to ward off panic attacks and hoping that my own hands hadn't managed to strangle me while I slept. guilt nostalgia Miriam Toews
8f661fb It shouldn't work. It shouldn't be magic. You shouldn't weep happy and then sad and then happy again. But you do. And I do. And we all do. memory nostalgia Ray Bradbury
09cfaa4 He's completely blown through his younger years like his childhood was one big cigarette to smoke carelessly. wasted-time smoke cigarette growing-up kid child young childhood memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
44c490d "Back in the "leather and lace" eighties, I was the fantasy editor for a publishing company in New York City. It was a great time to be young and footloose on the streets of Manhattan--punk rock and folk music were everywhere; Blondie, the Eurythmics, Cyndi Lauper, and Prince were all strutting their stuff on the newly created MTV; and the eighties' sense of style meant I could wear my scruffy black leather into the office without turning too many heads. The fantasy field was growing by leaps and bounds, and I was right in the middle of it, working with authors I'd worshiped as a teen, and finding new ones to encourage and publish." fantasy 80s 80s-nostalgia new-york nostalgia Terri Windling
bacbfae Because who can describe the look that triggers the memory of loved ones? Who can anticipate the frown, the smile, or the misplaced lock of hair that sends a swift, undeniable signal from the past? Who can ever estimate the power of association, which is always strongest in moments of love and in memories of death? memory nostalgia John Irving
bcd7eda Din splendorile cafelei de odineoara, neschimbat ramasese doar mangalul. viața nostalgia Naguib Mahfouz
3e3c1d0 Above all, staring at my old bedroom ceiling, I feel safe. Cocooned from the world; wrapped up in cotton wool. No one can get me here. No one even knows I'm here. I won't get any nasty letters and I won't get any nasty phone calls and I won't get any nasty visitors. It's like a sanctuary. I feel as if I'm fifteen again, with nothing to worry about but my Homework. (And I haven't even got any of that.) life parent-love-and-protection parents nostalgia Sophie Kinsella
80e1fdf The vivid memory of the woods had blossomed into a visceral longing for the Ridge, so immediate that I felt the ghost of my vanished house rise around me, a cold mountain wind thrumming past its walls, and thought that, if I reached down, I could feel Adso's soft gray fur under my fingers. I swallowed, hard. loss claire-fraser memory nostalgia Diana Gabaldon
c110a17 When he stepped into the shower, the hot water scalded him. He let it run over his face, burning his eyelids. He put up with the pain, his jaw clenched and his muscles taut, suppressing the urge to howl with loneliness in the suffocating steam. For four years, one month, and twelve days, Nikon always got into the shower with him after they made love and soaped his back slowly, interminably. And often she put her arms around him, like a little girl in the rain. One day I'll leave without ever really knowing you. You'll remember my big, dark eyes. The reproachful silences. The moans of anxiety as I slept. The nightmares you couldn't save me from. You'll remember all this when I'm gone. saudade nostalgia Arturo Pérez-Reverte
24f15d3 El exiliado mira hacia el pasado, lamiendose las heridas; el inmigrante mira hacia el futuro, dispuesto a aprovechar las oportunidades a su alcance. exilio isabel-allende nostalgia Isabel Allende
49bef17 "...Do you think there's somewhere else, some other place to go after this one?" Mandy blurted out. "You mean when you die, where will you end up?" Alecto asked her. "...I wouldn't know... back to whatever void there is, I suppose." "I've thought about it... every living thing dies alone, it'll be lonely after death," Mandy sighed sadly. "That freaks me out, does it scare you?" "I don't want to be alone," Alecto replied wearily. "We won't be, though. We'll be dead, so we'll just be darkness, not much else, just memories, nostalgia and darkness." "I don't want to be any of that either though," Mandy exclaimed, bursting into tears and crying, keeping her eyes to the floor, her voice shaky as she spoke to him. "When we die, we'll still be nothing, the world will still be nothing, everything'll just be nothing!" "You're real though, at least that's something," Alecto pointed out, holding his hand out in front of her. Smiling miserably, Mandy took his hand in her own and sat there beside him quietly." time grief heaven depression death imagination sadness truth frightened disturbing grim spooky nirvana funeral purgatory void misery scary kill dead lost dying nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
b1c1ec4 Though why should we expect age to mellow us? If it isn't life's business to reward merit, why should it be life's business to give us warm, comfortable feelings towards its end? What possible evolutionary purpose could nostalgia serve? time personality history philosophy mellow merit memory nostalgia Julian Barnes
964ae1a Mas o tempo... o tempo primeiro fixa-nos e depois confunde-nos. Pensavamos que estavamos a ser adultos quando estavamos so a ser prudentes. Imaginavamos que estavamos a ser responsaveis, mas estavamos so a ser cobardes. Aquilo a que chamavamos realismo acabava por ser uma maneira de evitar as coisas e nao de as enfrentar. Tempo... deem-nos tempo suficiente e as nossas decisoes mais fundamentadas parecerao instaveis e as nossas certezas, bizarras. tempo nostalgia Julian Barnes
3db89af Mandy smiled cheerfully at an overweight kid in a gold sweater and pink skirt who was chasing her little brother around along the boardwalk. When she was that age, on sunny days she'd be out on the boardwalk with Jud and Wendy, buying rainbow sorbet from the ice cream shop and placing paper boats into the harbour. She felt like a ghost, drifting past the shell of her own childhood. kids rainbow-sorbet ice-cream pollution sea children childhood nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
b4dbfa8 "Kipster is a perfectly valid word," Wendy argued, about to write down her score on the little notepad that had come with the game. "Okay, so what does it mean?" Mandy wanted to know. Wendy struggled to come up with an answer, and finally just changed the subject with school gossip. Mandy found herself just ignoring it... it always sounded the same, the same events, same rumors, same secrets, same affairs, but never anything of interest to her. "Well Sarah's on drugs again and that's why she did it in Mario's backseat, but now she might be pregnant, oh, and that messed-up Seth kid's been cutting himself again so he was sent away to Halifax last week, and there's a festival in Wolfville but Kathy won't go because Audrey-Rose is going to be there and they hate each other, and...." Mandy had learned two years ago to detach herself from gossip; she'd learned it from Jud's death. Wendy may have been eighteen years old but she could be immature on the best of days." suicide words funny 80-s argue kipster cape-breton nova-scotia boring eighties drama-queen scrabble maturity coming-of-age canada pollution growing-up baby teenage fighting eating gossip bullying scary game drama self-harm nostalgia rumors Rebecca McNutt
1c9d77f "Why'd you want to kill yourself? Didn't you feel anything, or didn't it hurt you?" Mandy questioned, looking puzzled. "Yes, I suppose it did, ... it was strange, it was sharp, that's all I can think of to describe it... and cold, but not cold like ice, more like... I don't know, like something much worse, something horrible... and it seemed like the ground was falling upwards, becoming the sky... for a moment it made me consider that it was just a dream, that I was on some sort of drug, and then I remember being overjoyed to see the sky was still above me, then just really sad, really tired... and then I don't remember much else about it," Alecto told her, glaring straight ahead at the sky with narrowed eyes. "I don't mind, I'm not supposed to mind, anyway. Mearth already told me that eventually I would want to be dead, that it was inevitable... still, I sometimes wish that I could have done something good for other people in my life, it might have made up for all the bad stuff I've done." suicide grief loss dark friends death sadness friendship dysfunctional swing-set confusion morbid spooky creepy canada help friend self-harm self-mutilation halloween drugs dying nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
bb6b4ba "Wendy's house, unlike many in Cape Breton, had three floors, along with a basement and attic. Aside from Wendy's bedroom, there was a laundry room. The dirty water in the sink would rush from the washer hose, bubbling up, threatening to overflow, but it never did. Next-door was a motel with a neon sign that read in turquoise and pink, "We have the best rates in town!", but the 'E' in 'rates' kept flickering on and off day and night so that every few seconds it would switch to, "We have the best rats in town!" funny bedroom bubble inn laundry-room motel quaint rates sink cape-breton sydney best turquoise neon canada odd weird rat hotel small-town poor house rats strange pink nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
10054a5 "I've just been thinking it would be a lot of fun to live in a defunct shopping mall! Totally abandoned, Yet still frozen in time, Bright white lights shining, Artificial turquoise fountains spewing out clear water, Eerie eighties elevator music drifting by... Dancing erratically, shouting to the top, Because it's sad to see these places die. They're a testament to the hubris of modern America, which is dying in and of itself. Let's face it. We know we can't compete with Online shopping And Made-in-China products And eBay And Amazon. Those of us who spent our High school And college days Being wage slaves to these dying malls, We'll be old and nostalgic someday, Telling our grandkids about these wonderful buildings! They housed sets of trendy clothes Which nobody was rich enough to afford Or thin enough to fit in. We'll tell them about the first time We were almost trampled in a Black Friday stampede. The first time we saw a kid Vomit in the ugly rainbow ball pit At the children's play area, Dumped by babysitters to grow up there, Spending their childhood draped in neon. The first time eating greasy pad-thai And hamburgers At the food court. The first time falling in love In the dark movie theatre That charges too much for stale popcorn. Holding hands in the sunlit rays Of the dusty projector... Totally lost in moments. What is the meaning of this voyage? Our grandkids, Who will probably have Smartphones Surgically implanted to their brains And identical glass condominiums by then, They'll gasp in shock and say, "Wow, that sounds SO cool!" life love dead-mall mall shopping eerie childhood consumerism nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
acdf685 The uncertainty of the future made them turn their hearts toward the past. They saw themselves in the lost paradise of the deluge, splashing in the puddles in the courtyard, killing lizards to hang on Ursula, pretending that they were going to bury her alive, and those memories revealed to them the truth that they had been happy together ever since they had had memory. love soulmates memory nostalgia Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez
85b8708 "Sara," I ask finally, "what do you want from me?" "I want to look at you and remember what it used to be like," she says thickly. "I want to go back, Brian. I want you to take me back." But she is not the woman I used to know, the woman who traveled a countryside counting prairie dog holes, who read aloud the classifieds of lonely cowboys seeking women and told me, in the darkest crease of the night, that she would love me until the moon lost its footing in the sky. To be fair, I am not the same man. The one who listened. The one who believed her." marriage relationships change falling-apart nostalgia Jodi Picoult
441508e "Fyodor Pavlovitch was drunk when he heard of his wife's death, and the story is that he ran out into the street and began shouting with joy, raising his hands to Heaven: "Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace," but others say he wept without restraint like a little child, so much so that people were sorry for him, in spite of the repulsion he inspired. It is quite possible that both versions were true, that he rejoiced at his release, and at the same time wept for her who released him." emotional-pain nostalgia Fyodor Dostoyevsky
dd01342 He knew very well that his memory detested him, that it did nothing but slander him; therefore he tried not to believe it and to be more lenient toward his own life. But that didn't help: he took no pleasure in looking back, and he did it as seldom as possible. memory nostalgia Milan Kundera
cf9530f ...but now the love of Charles for Emma seemed to her a desertion from her tenderness, an encroachment upon what was hers, and she watched her son's happiness in sad silence, as a ruined man looks through the windows at people dining in his old house. motherhood jealousy nostalgia Gustave Flaubert
3d892a5 Not very long ago I was driving with my husband on the back roads of Grey County, which is to the north and east of Huron County. We passed a country store standing empty at a crossroads. It had old-fashioned store windows, with long narrow panes. Out in front there was a stand for gas pumps which weren't there anymore. Close beside it was a mound of sumac trees and strangling vines, into which all kinds of junk had been thrown. The sumacs jogged my memory and I looked back at the store. It seemed to me that I had been here once, and the the scene was connected with some disappointment or dismay. I knew that I had never driven this way before in my adult life and I did not think I could have come here as a child. It was too far from home. Most of our drives out of town where to my grandparents'house in Blyth--they had retired there after they sold the farm. And once a summer we drove to the lake at Goderich. But even as I was saying this to my husband I remembered the disappointment. Ice cream. Then I remembered everything--the trip my father and I had made to Muskoka in 1941, when my mother was already there, selling furs at the Pine Tree Hotel north of Gravehurst. memories jog-your-memory childhood nostalgia Alice Munro
c560edb "This is because the nature of this place is a strong emotion - "nostalgia" is their word for it - which means a longing for what has never been, or at least not in the form and shape imagined." nostalgia Doris Lessing
cc3d8b9 "One thing seems certain. Our galaxy is now in the brief springtime of its life--a springtime made glorious by such brilliant blue-white stars as Vega and Sirius, and, on a more humble scale, our own Sun. Not until all these have flamed through their incandescent youth, in a few fleeting billions of years, will the real history of the universe begin. time future space nostalgia Arthur C. Clarke
d0f338e "They think I'm not entirely 'grounded in reality', they say. They want me to go to some live-in nerdy activity ranch thing for troubled Canadian youth, that one out in Ontario where you come back programmed like some robot, dressed in a tye-dyed shirt and eating tuna sandwiches," Mandy explained, a horrified look on her face. "You're eighteen, not twelve! Would they really send you to some rat's nest like that?" Wendy questioned in mock horror. "Aw hell no, if you get sent there, they'll make you hold hands and sing songs about caring! And they'll force you to recycle everything in blue canisters, and to discuss your emotions in front of groups of bratty little dopes!" "Dear god, they'll have geeky youth wiener roasts at night, and no locks on the doors!" Mandy added, eyes wide. "...It'll be the day pigs fly, my parents have the camp brochure on the fridge but they'll never go through with sending me there. They always forget." family friendship humor locks ontario preteen reprogramming sleepaway straight-camp tuna-sandwich nova-scotia summer-camp wiener-roast rebel pressure troubled center coming-of-age canada teen self-help nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
6f062af A person in her twenties has been a child for most of her life, but as time goes by that portion that is childhood becomes smaller and smaller, more and more distant, more and more faded, though they say at the end of life the beginning returns with renewed vividness, as though you had sailed all the way around the world and were going back into the darkness from which you came. travel youth memory old-age nostalgia Rebecca Solnit
fa63d88 "....For instance, I hated Pearl Jam at the time. I thought they were pompous blowhards. Now, whenever a Pearl Jam song comes on the car radio, I find myself pounding my fist on the dashboard, screaming, "Pearl JAM! Pearl JAM! Now this is rock and roll! Jeremy's SPO-ken! But he's still al-LIIIIIVE!" music pearl-jam nostalgia Rob Sheffield
8f015dc "Do you know that high fever which invades us in our cold suffering, that aching for a land we do not know, that anguish of curiosity? There is a country which resembles you, where everything is beautiful, sumptuous, authentic, still, where fantasy has built and adorned a western China, where life is sweet to breathe, where happiness is wed to silence. That is where to live, that is where to die!" - Invitation to a Voyage" imagination golden-age hiraeth longing nostalgia Charles Baudelaire
b42e34b Alecto isn't a person! He's just something that society made and then threw away, a memory that refuses to die. death created threw kodak-moment cape-breton super-8 nova-scotia coal mining steel canada pollution society person dying memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
eb82fe9 La vida es un pequeno espacio de luz entre dos nostalgias: la de lo que aun no has vivido y la de lo que ya no vas a poder vivir. Y el momento justo de la accion es tan confuso, tan resbaladizo y tan efimero que lo desperdicias mirando con aturdimiento alrededor. vida nostalgia Rosa Montero
8a0d0c5 Super 8 film is the language of silence. photography silence kodak-moment kodak cape-breton super-8 nova-scotia obscure seventies film language nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
8fe8366 Three children lay on the rocks at the water's edge. A dark-haired girl, two boys, slightly older. This image is caught forever in my memory, like some fragile creature preserved in amber. memories quote preserved fragile quotes childhood nostalgia Juliet Marillier
5915692 The way you remember or dream about your loved ones - the ones who are gone - you can't stop their endings from jumping ahead of the rest of their stories. You don't get to choose the chronology of what you dream, or the order of events in which you remember someone. In your mind - in your dreams, in your memories - sometimes the story begins with the epilogue. thoughts relationships memories friends inspiration family death life love end memory nostalgia John Irving
c6d85ed "The prints shop manager, a balding man of about thirty years old, dressed in a plaid work shirt and faded jeans, looked very shocked when he saw the headline text. "Sydney Tar Ponds, Is It As Dangerous As People Say? Well," he exclaimed, glancing at the front photo, which featured the Sydney Steel Corporation, along with its plumes of orange smog. "You know, most people your age are really against that mill, as if it's a disease. We have university students protesting every few weeks or so... strangely enough, the ones who have parents who rely on that steel mill to pay the bills." "What about the pollution?" Wendy questioned, almost accusingly, as if it was his fault. "What if dangerous chemicals are in the environment?" "Hey kid, I don't even work at the mill, never have, but my father, my uncle, their father, cousins, all worked there," the prints shop man argued, placing the newspapers in a cardboard box and taping it shut. "When it comes down to all that 'go green' crap, you have to ask yourself, is it worth risking a person's income, their job, their family... their life? I'm not saying you're wrong, but these newspapers might have a point." earth earth-day go-green industry-decline manager print recycle hippie smog newspaper environmentalism shop career green pollution job nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
4dc9b1b La nostalgia desgasta y aniquila, es el vicio de los desterrados. immigration nostalgia Isabel Allende
e173991 Yes it's me, I myself, what I turned out to be, (...) I'm the one here in myself, it's me. (...) Whatever I was, whatever I wasn't--it's all in what I am. Whatever I wanted, whatever I didn't want--all of this has shaped me. Whatever I loved, or stopped loving--in me it's the same nostalgia (Alvaro de Campos) loneliness self-knowledge life love nostalgia Fernando Pessoa
9c1d7f4 I may not know who I am, but I know where I am from. nostalgia Wallace Stegner
8b5ca9e This song always kills me, I said. She sighed, and then gave up. Why? Oh, I don't know. It makes me feel nostalgia for a time I never even knew. I wasn't even alive. That's what I do to you too, she said, I'll just bet. I was what everything I loved did to me. nostalgia Michael Chabon
7d70601 Mas o menos cada diez anos echo una mirada hacia el pasado y puedo ver el mapa de mi viaje, si es que eso puede llamarse un mapa; parece mas bien un plato de tallarines. Si uno vive lo suficiente y mira para atras, es obvio que no hacemos mas que andar en circulos. memorias isabel-allende chile nostalgia Isabel Allende
739c692 There was a super-8 steel town somewhere, where all the forgotten things in the cruel world ended up eventually, Mandy was sure of it... this place, she decided, was called Smog City. grief heaven death kodak kodachrome super-8 concept smog steel canada forgotten film cruel city nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
d88c58b There were always those passengers who came aboard bearing grudges against the modern age. perspective technology nostalgia Erik Larson
37b81c0 I love the way he smelled whenever his head dipped close to hear what I was saying--like the sun striking th cheek of a tomato, or soap drying in the hood of a car. I loved the way his hand felt on my spine. I loved. love reminiscing nostalgia Jodi Picoult
5dc8a7b "Every day it's something worse being predicted. Mearth says that sooner or later copyright on books will be all in the past because they'll all be available electronically. She says that electric cars will replace gasoline-powered cars. She says that something called drones will be used to watch the entire country, she talks a lot about something called nanotechnology, and 3-dimensional printing and cellular phones being implanted into peoples' minds and all available careers being replaced by robots and human cloning and overpopulation and film becoming obsolete, cellular phones making regular telephones obsolete and LED lighting replacing everything and eventually she says that the planet will collapse and become an apathetic wreck," Alecto replied rapidly, his run-on sentence sounding sinister and dangerous. "Mearth says that eventually people will be able to see inside the minds of everyone." led-lights microchips retro nanotechnology telephone digital obsolete sinister minds film technology mental-illness memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
de3efa9 "What are you doing?" Alecto asked in surprise, stepping back. Laughing brightly, she dragged him towards the greenhouse, the shattered glass reflecting rainbows as brilliant as a million Kodak flashcubes, glittering as they were cascaded through the breeze. "See, don't be afraid of the glass, it can't hurt us," Mandy laughed, spectacularly eccentric, her eyes reflecting the fallen glass. "I wasn't afraid of the glass, but this isn't a very secluded place that you just decided to vandalize," Alecto cautioned, smiling despite his words. Before Mandy could reply, she heard loud whispering in the air, behind the trees... it sounded like a group of people, all whispering in unison... "Somebody's out there," she exclaimed nervously. "Yeah, you're right," Alecto replied. Suddenly a sharp new vibrancy seemed to fill his eyes and he smiled coldly, taking the tree branch from Mandy and rapidly smashing in all of Mrs. Matthias' stained glass house windows with it. Blue, green, yellow, red, turquoise, purple and an array of other colors showered through the sky noisily, sounding like wind chimes and crashing waves. "They'll go away," he told her, glancing up at the sky. "...Alecto, do you like me?" Mandy questioned, holding out her arms like a lopsided scarecrow as the glass fell through her dark red hair. "Yeah, sure," he answered. "Will you be my friend, then? A real friend, not just another person who feels sorry for me?" Mandy asked. "...Alright, Mandy Valems," Alecto agreed." depression fun friends funny friendship love colored flashcube greenhouse scarecrow stained-glass vibrancy wind-chimes kodak cape-breton nova-scotia glitter cut air whispering yellow waves best-friends sorry green sharp vandalism blue canada glass growing-up red shatter trees noir friend house smile children crashing noise nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
2594370 But do you know this idea of the imaginary homeland? Once you set out from shore on your little boat, once you embark, you'll never truly be at home again. What you've left behind exists only in memory, and your ideal place becomes some strange imaginary concoction of all you've left behind at every stop. migration nostalgia Claire Messud
8235210 "I think we ought to find something else to do," said Mandy. "But Alecto my love, you're the first person to notice my retro diner kitchen. When my parents saw it, they thought I was creating a weird art project." "I like it. It's got that let's-drown-ourselves-in-better-days type ambiance," Alecto declared, his gray eyes narrowed." funny friendship love ambience better-days fifties retro cape-breton nova-scotia diner drowning pollution art parents kitchen nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
36282ff "And what if the other kids laugh at me?" Kerry complained to her parents as she nibbled on a piece of toast that morning. "I have a Cape Breton accent! They'll know I'm from Canada and they'll start asking me if I lived in an igloo or ate maple syrup, bacon and seal meat every day!" "You're really overreacting," Susan chuckled, sipping on a glass of orange juice. "Canada is a lot like the States and the only thing separating both countries is an imaginary boarder! If anyone laughs at you, tell them it doesn't snow year-round, you got free health care while you were there and that you never rode a polar bear to school. Besides, do you know how many popular movies and TV shows from the States were filmed in Canada?" "It's not just the Canada stuff mom," Kerry sighed worriedly. "I'm from Dym, it's an industrial dump!" "Yeah, and have you looked at Pittsburgh lately?" Susan asked. "Full of coal mines and steel mills, just like Sydney was when we lived there! I actually rather came to like the pollution, I don't think I'd ever want to leave it." funny wisdom pittsburgh polar-bear seal cape-breton nova-scotia canada united-states weird morning girl teenager parents stereotype teen joke nostalgia school Rebecca McNutt
f682313 [I]t is precisely such a paradox that lies at the heart of nostalgia - for nostalgia is about a fantasy that never takes place, one that maintains itself by not being fulfilled. nostalgia Oliver Sacks
bf81d56 Oftentimes she wondered what had happened to super 8. Sure, it made perfect sense that nobody wanted the hassle of spending money on a three-minute cartridge of film and threading it through a projector, but though digital cameras were convenient and cheap, Mandy didn't care. Super 8 had integrity, it wasn't just nostalgia, it was art, it was history, it was a little recording medium that somehow possessed the power to evoke lost memories, to turn back time, and there was something dazzling about waiting excitedly for a reel of film to come back in its yellow and red Kodak envelope, eating buttered popcorn while the projector paraded life's best moments, and capturing something beautiful in only three minutes. photography integrity future future-shock home-movies kodak projector retro super-8 vintage popcorn digital lonliness movies nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
08f059b Some say that time is like water that flows around us (like a stone in the river) and some say we flow with time (like a twig floating on the surface of the water). time nostalgia Chuck Klosterman
7211c72 Now, obviously, all old people seem cool whenever we see black-and-white images of their younger selves. It's human nature to inject every old picture with positive abstractions. We can't help ourselves. We all do it. We want those things to be true, because we all hope future generations will have the same thoughts when they come across forgotten photographs of us. memories photographs nostalgia Chuck Klosterman
8642fea Nostalgia is powerful. It is natural, human to long for the past, particularly when we can remember our histories as better than they were. past nostalgia Roxane Gay
171c945 Lewis had experienced more trauma than most of his modern readers ever will. suffering envy nostalgia Alister E. McGrath
993401b "The formula for this brand of "historical" writing is to put the public on the inside; to let them feel the palpitations of royal and imperial lovers and to overhear their lispings and cooings. It can be argued that a man has to live somewhere, and that if his own time is so cut up by rapid change that he can't find a cranny big enough to relax in, then he must betake himself to the past. That is certainly one motive in the production of historical romance, from Sir Walter Scott to Thornton Wilder. But mainly this formula works as a means of flattery. The public is not only invited inside but encouraged to believe that there is nothing inside that differs from its own thoughts and feelings. This reassurance is provided by endowing historical figures with the sloppiest possible minds. The great are "humanized" by being trivial. The debunking school began by making the great appear as corrupt, or mean and egotistical. The "humanizers" have merely carried on to make them idiotic. "Democratic" vanity has reached such proportions that it cannot accept as human anything above the level of cretinous confusion of mind of the type popularized by Hemingway's heroes. Just as the new star must be made to appear successful by reason of some freak of fortune, so the great, past or present, must be made to seem so because of the most ordinary qualities, to which fortune adds an unearned trick or idea." -- time fiction past truth relaxation past-and-present rapid-change historical-fiction nostalgia Marshall McLuhan
210cf04 Quien de verdad quiera conservar en la memoria lo sucedido, no debe entregarse a los recuerdos. El recuerdo humano es un proceso demasiado agradable como para retener el pasado; es lo contrario de lo que pretende ser. Porque el recuerdo puede mas, mucho mas: realiza con tenacidad el milagro de concertar la paz con el tiempo ido, en la que se volatiliza cualquier asomo de rencor y el blando velo de la nostalgia se deposita sobre todo lo que se percibio como duro y acerado. Las personas felices tienen mala memoria y hermosos recuerdos. memories reflexions nostalgia Thomas Brussig
1994906 "["What is the most real thing you can think of?"] Jacques thought for a long time before answering; he tried to weigh up what was most vital and enduring in all that he had known. Eventually, no longer smiling, he said, 'Memory'." memory nostalgia Sebastian Faulks
a23aff8 As one grows old I think one becomes more attached to family things- to houses and graves. family graham-greene travels-with-my-aunt nostalgia Graham Greene
c70aca6 He listened to the hooting of many metal horns, squealing of brakes, the calls of vendors selling red-purple bananas and jungle oranges in their stalls. Colonel Freeleigh's feet began to move, hanging from the edge of his wheel chair, making the motions of a man walking. His eyes squeezed tight. He gave a series of immense sniffs, as if to gain the odors of meats hung on iron hooks in sunshine, cloaked with flies like a mantle of raisins; the smell of stone alleys wet with morning rain. He could feel the sun bum his spiny-bearded cheek, and he was twenty-five years old again, walking, walking, looking, smiling, happy to be alive, very much alert, drinking in colors and smells. vendors streets memory nostalgia Ray Bradbury
6d956f4 "The phone was laid on a desk thousands of miles away. Once more, with that clear familiarity, the footsteps, the pause, and, at last, the raising of the window. "Listen," whispered the old man to himself. And he heard a thousand people in another sunlight, and the faint, tinkling music of an organ grinder playing "La Marimba"-- oh, a lovely, dancing tune. With eyes tight, the old man put up his hand as if to click pictures of an old cathedral, and his body was heavier with flesh, younger, and he felt the hot pavement underfoot. He wanted to say, "You're still there, aren't you? All of: you people in that city in the time of the early siesta, the shops closing, the little boys crying loteria nacional para hoy! to sell lottery tickets. You are all there, the people in the city. I can't believe I was ever among you. When you are away I: from a city it becomes a fantasy. Any town, New York, Chicago, with its people, becomes improbable with distance. Just as I am improbable here, in Illinois, in a small town by a ' quiet lake. All of us improbable to one another because we are not present to one another. And it is so good to hear the sounds, and know that Mexico City is still there and the people moving and living . . ." time phone nostalgia Ray Bradbury
68395e6 "I am speaking of the evenings when the sun sets early, of the fathers under the streetlamps in the back streets returning home carrying plastic bags. Of the old Bosphorus ferries moored to deserted stations in the middle of winter, where sleepy sailors scrub the decks, pail in hand and one eye on the black-and-white television in the distance; of the old booksellers who lurch from one khnancial crisis to the next and then wait shivering all day for a customer to appear; of the barbers who complain that men don't shave as much after an economic crisis; of the children who play ball between the cars on cobblestoned streets; of the covered women who stand at remote bus stops clutching plastic shopping bags and speak to no one as they wait for the bus that never arrives; of the empty boathouses of the old Bosphorus villas; of the teahouses packed to the rafters with unemployed men; of the patient pimps striding up and down the city's greatest square on summer evenings in search of one last drunken tourist; of the broken seesaws in empty parks; of ship horns booming through the fog; of the wooden buildings whose every board creaked even when they were pashas' mansions, all the more now that they have become municipal headquarters; of the women peeking through their curtains as they wait for husbands who never manage to come home in the evening; of the old men selling thin religious treatises, prayer beads, and pilgrimage oils in the courtyards of mosques; of the tens of thousands of identical apartment house entrances, their facades discolored by dirt, rust, soot, and dust; of the crowds rushing to catch ferries on winter evenings; of the city walls, ruins since the end of the Byzantine Empire; of the markets that empty in the evenings; of the dervish lodges, the tekkes, that have crumbled; of the seagulls perched on rusty barges caked with moss and mussels, unhinching under the pelting rain; of the tiny ribbons of smoke rising from the single chimney of a hundred-yearold mansion on the coldest day of the year; of the crowds of men khshing from the sides of the Galata Bridge; of the cold reading rooms of libraries; of the street photographers; of the smell of exhaled breath in the movie theaters, once glittering arairs with gilded ceilings, now porn cinemas frequented by shamefaced men; of the avenues where you never see a woman alone after sunset; of the crowds gathering around the doors of the state-controlled brothels on one of those hot blustery days when the wind is coming from the south; of the young girls who queue at the doors of establishments selling cut-rate meat; of the holy messages spelled out in lights between the minarets of mosques on holidays that are missing letters where the bulbs have burned out; of the walls covered with frayed and blackened posters; of the tired old dolmuses, khfties Chevrolets that would be museum pieces in any western city but serve here as shared taxis, hugng and pugng up the city's narrow alleys and dirty thoroughfares; of the buses packed with passengers; of the mosques whose lead plates and rain gutters are forever being stolen; of the city cemeteries, which seem like gateways to a second world, and of their cypress trees; of the dim lights that you see of an evening on the boats crossing from Kadikoy to Karakoy; of the little children in the streets who try to sell the same packet of tissues to every passerby; of the clock towers no one ever notices; of the history books in which children read about the victories of the Ottoman Empire and of the beatings these same children receive at home; of the days when everyone has to stay home so the electoral roll can be compiled or the census can be taken; of the days when a sudden curfew is announced to facilitate the search for terrorists and everyone sits at home fearfully awaiting "the ogcials"; CONTINUED IN SECOND PART OF THE QUOTE" history feelings istanbul melancholy long nostalgia Orhan Pamuk
db8c931 When I first began to write, I had been a child for most of my life, and my childhood memories were vivid and potent, and the forces that shaped me, Most of them have grown fainter with time, and whenever I write one down, I give it away: it ceases to have the shadowy life of memory and becomes fixed in letters: it ceases to be mine; it loses that mobile unreliability of the live. writing memory nostalgia Rebecca Solnit
565b66b But if nostalgia means the powerful recollection of strong emotions--and a regret that such feelings are no longer present in our lives--then I plead guilty . . . And if we're talking about strong feelings that will never come again, I suppose it's possible to be nostalgic about remembered pain as well as remembered pleasure. And that opens up the field, doesn't it? pain the-sense-of-an-ending julian-barnes memory pleasure nostalgia Julian Barnes
3abd390 However, I suppose VH1 *is* selling me something; they're selling nostalgia, which means they're selling my own memories back to me, which means they're selling me to me. humor nostalgia Chuck Klosterman
d39ed44 "Alecto, have you noticed how downhill this little island is becoming?" Mandy questioned sadly. "All these organic food stores and yoga studios and cellular phone towers... Cape Breton was one of the only places left where it still had that nostalgic small town atmosphere but now... I've only been away for a year, how could things have changed so quickly? I mean, how can the world accept it?" "C'est la vie," said Alecto, looking extremely tired as he stared out the window at the late November maple keys fluttering down from vibrantly red trees lining the streets on either side of the windshield." change life cell-phone environmental windshield cape-breton nova-scotia organic yoga digital tower street drive car modernity technology nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
068ac97 The print was an old one made from a negative taken in the 1960's of her parents in Sydney Mines, dancing with thrilled, excited expressions on their faces, in front of a classic car that had been a wedding gift at the time. Her mother's hair, red back then, was held back by a blue handkerchief, and she was dressed in a billowing skirt and white blouse. Her father's denim jeans and faded t-shirt were streaked with coal dust as he held her hands and spun her around in the front yard of their old clapboard house, yellow grass under their feet and a cobalt-blue sky with white clouds drifting above. Mandy could almost feel the late summer breeze as she gazed deeply into the print, watching the flamboyant colors come to life. She hung it up to dry on two wooden clothespins hanging from a string above her. photography poverty arents coal-mine darkroom kodachrome print retro dancing coal canada memory nostalgia Rebecca McNutt
95c1cd6 The men and women of the Golden Age, Hesiod wrote, lived in an eternal spring, for hundreds of years, always youthful, fed on acorns from a great oak, on wild fruits, on honey. In the Silver Age, which is less written about, the people lived for 100 years as children, without growing up, and then quite suddenly aged and died. The Fabians and the social scientists, writers and teachers saw, in a way earlier generations had not, that children were people, with identities and desires and intelligences. They saw that they were neither dolls, nor toys, nor miniature adults. They saw, many of them, that children needed freedom, needed not only to learn, and be good, but to play and be wild. But they saw this, so many of them, out of a desire of their own for a perpetual childhood, a Silver Age. hesiod infantile silver-age victorians prehistory freud childhood golden-age nostalgia A.S. Byatt
2af4090 Our misconception in viewing the past lies in assuming that doubt and fear, permit, protests, violence and hate were not equally present. perspective nostalgia Barbara W. Tuchman
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