859 Quotes About Nostalgia

That first day at school, maybe an agonising parting from your parents. The face of a loved one lost. A pullover knitted by your granny. A favourite toy. A doll, perhaps. A book of rhymes, tattered and torn. Someone who gave you a flower, a kiss on the forehead. To the end of your days you will carry that kiss with you. And may it protect you from all harm.

The shadow past is shaped by everything that never happened. Invisible, it melts the present like rain through karst. A biography of longing. It steers us like magnetism, a spirit torque. This is how one becomes undone by a smell, a word, a place, the photo of a mountain of shoes. By love that closes its mouth before calling a name.

This is Singapore. Where you'd be a fool to cling to any place held dear, where the treasures of space and memory being blasted into oblivion is the only certainty in the ferocious race for development.

Nostalgia is a bittersweet emotion; it entails the act of recalling complicated memories of bygone days.

We do not mourn the memories lost.We mourn the ones which beset us as loyal friends.

I liked watching them, all three of them around my truck. I wanted time to stop because everything seemed so simple, Dante and Legs falling in love with each other, Dante's mom and dad remembering something about their youth as they examined my truck, and me, the proud owner. I had something of value– even if it was just a truck that brought out a sweet nostalgia in people. It was as if my eyes were a camera and I was photographing the moment, knowing that I would keep that photograph forever.

Nostalgia an excuse not to live, kills us all in the end.

I suffer from chronic nostalgia. Looking back makes me dizzy, queasy, and I yearn for it, ache for it. I want it back; maybe the homesickness will leave then.But it’s not the way I remember it. I long for a past that I didn’t have, for the same experiences with different emotions, without the pain, without the ambivalence, without the fear. My heart remembers two different lives and I long for the one I can only see now, in retrospect.

The memories come backlike the rainbow after the rainwith all the hues and shades of colorand an unending trainthe bougainvillea tree nearby my parents house where I grew updid not ask me my nameshe embraced me as she had donein my schooldays in every way the samethe little squirrel just nowtip-toed down the lanelooking at the spectacleunfolding in the rainafter all these yearsI have come back to my parents homethe clouds have different shapesbut the air smells the same ...