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61abac3
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I talked yesterday about caring, I care about these moldy old riding gloves. I smile at them flying through the breeze beside me because they have been there for so many years and are so old and so tired and so rotten there is something kind of humorous about them. They have become filled with oil and sweat and dirt and spattered bugs and now when I set them down flat on a table, even when they are not cold, they won't stay flat. They've got a memory of their own. They cost only three dollars and have been restitched so many times it is getting impossible to repair them, yet I take a lot of time and pains to do it anyway because I can't imagine any new pair taking their place. That is impractical, but practicality isn't the whole thing with gloves or with anything else.
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motorcycles
nostalgia
riding
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Robert M. Pirsig |
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d39ed44
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"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."
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cape-breton
car
cell-phone
change
digital
drive
environmental
life
modernity
nostalgia
nova-scotia
organic
street
technology
tower
windshield
yoga
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Rebecca McNutt |
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dd125cc
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"Nelle notti d'inverno, mentre faceva cuocere la minestra nel camino, soffriva la nostalgia del caldo del suo retrobottega, il ronzio del sole nei mandorli polverosi, il fischio del treno nel sopore della siesta, proprio come a Macondo soffriva la nostalgia della minestra invernale nel camino, del richiamo del venditore di caffe e delle lodole fugaci della primavera. Stordito da due nostalgie opposte come due specchi, perse il suo meraviglioso senso della irrealta, e alla fine raccomando a tutti che se ne andassero da Macondo, che dimenticassero tutto quello che lui gli aveva insegnato del mondo e del cuore umano, che se ne fottessero di Orazio, e che in qualsiasi luogo si fossero trovati si ricordassero sempre che il passato era menzogna,
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nostalgia
ricordi
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Gabriel García Márquez |
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95c1cd6
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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.
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childhood
freud
golden-age
hesiod
infantile
nostalgia
prehistory
silver-age
victorians
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A.S. Byatt |
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1d12a8d
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I am forty. [...] I know who I am. The treachery of possibilities that threaten to swamp a young guy -- I negotiated them. I'm on the other side. The safe side. Why then do I remember the perilous moments with such fond affection?
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identity
memory
nostalgia
youth
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Gregory Maguire |
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2af4090
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Our misconception in viewing the past lies in assuming that doubt and fear, permit, protests, violence and hate were not equally present.
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nostalgia
perspective
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Barbara W. Tuchman |