In the evening, the tarantella dancers will come to the hotel; perhaps they'll dance and sing in the courtyard that is dripping with wistaria blooms and pungent with citrus perfumes. They wear gay cos...
In every age "the good old days" were a myth. No one ever thought they were good at the time. For every age has consisted of crises that seemed intolerable to the people who lived through them.
(n.) Homesickness; esp., a severe and sometimes fatal form of melancholia, due to homesickness.
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.
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.
Useless to tell myself that a dreamand the memory of yesterday are the same thing
Nostalgia is a longing for your home.
Our misconception in viewing the past lies in assuming that doubt and fear, permit, protests, violence and hate were not equally present.
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...
This was before voice mail, recorded phone messages you can't escape. Life was easier then. You just didn't pick up the phone.
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.
There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.
We are homesick most for the places we have never known.
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 eve...
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 when...
I have such a hopeless dream of walking or being there at night, nothing happens, I just pass, everything is unbearably over with.
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...
There is no greater sorrow
Nostalgia... the blessing of a merciful memory.
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 himsel...
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 memori...
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