Best 74 quotes in «nostalgic quotes» category

Some stories are rooted in adventure, some in strife. Others are born of the heart, and the horrors and the joys locked therein are often immeasurable, and make us truly wonder what became of those children we once were.

She used to wander through the past as often as it beckoned her, bemoaning the loss of nostalgia. Then, for a while, she turned from it, blissfully free of its noxious clutch, and now it's back, taunting her with what she left behind, knowing she can never recapture what's gone.

Songs are memories... Either u smile or get a tear in your eyes..

Sinto que há uma estranha eternidade naquilo que amámos e foi destruído. (I feel that there lies a strange eternity in that which we loved but has been destroyed.)

The idea that she would leave all of this - the rooms of the house once more familiar and warm and comforting - and go back to Brooklyn and not return for a long time again frightened her now. She knew as she sat on the edge of the bed and took her shoes off and then lay back with her arms behind her head that she had spent every day putting off all thought of her departure and what she would meet on her arrival.

There’s “Bloodstains” by Agent Orange. “Rise Above” by Black Flag. “Streets of San Francisco” by the Swingin’ Utters. “Gimme Danger” by Iggy and the Stooges.

This empty shell holds nothing but the echoes of what was.

Too much time will do that to you. Blur the edges between your memories and your imagination until everything feels like something you saw in a movie instead of your life.

This garden was peaceful and calm. Pink cherry blossoms and violet plum blossoms graced the sweeping trees. The petals fell like snowflakes, dancing and swirling until they touched the soft, verdant grass. There was something familiar about this place. Her eyes traveled down the flat stone steps. She knew this path, knew those stones. The third one from the bottom had a crack in the middle- from when she was five and the neighbor's boy convinced her there were worms on the other side of the stones. She'd hammered the stone in half, eager to catch a few worms to play with. There weren't any, of course, but her mother had helped her find some dragonflies by the pond instead, and they'd spent an afternoon counting them in the garden. Mulan smiled wistfully at the memory. This can't be the same garden. I'm in Diyu. Yet no painter could have re-created what she saw more convincingly. Every detail was as she remembered. At the bottom of the stone-cobbled path was a pond with rose-flushed lilies, and a marble bench under the cherry tree. She used to play by the pond when she was a little girl, catching frogs and fireflies in wine jugs and feeding the fish leftover rice husks and sesame seeds until her mother scolded her. And beyond the moon gate was- Mulan's hand jumped to her mouth. Home. That smell of home- of Baba's incense from the family temple, sharp with amber and cedar; of noodles in Grandmother Fa's special pork broth; of jasmine flowers that Mama used to scent her skin.

We were, fair queen, / Two lads that thought there was no more behind / But such a day to-morrow as to-day, / And to be boy eternal.

Vous rappelez-vous notre douce vie, Lorsque nous étions si jeunes tous deux, Et que nous n'avions au coeur d'autre envie Que d'être bien mis et d'être amoureux! Lorsqu'en ajoutant votre âge à mon âge, Nous ne comptions pas à deux quarante ans, Et que, dans notre humble et petit ménage, Tout, même l'hiver, nous était printemps!

we always knew that good times came with termination contracts even if we weren't quite ready to sign it.

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…

Where is the happiness, the sunshine, where are those thick skittles of wood which crashed and bounced so nicely, where is my bicycle with the low handlebars and the big gear? It seems there's a law which says that nothing ever vanishes, that matter is indestructible; therefore the chips from my skittles and the spokes of my bicycle still exist somewhere to this day. The pity of it is that I'll never find them again - never.

Why could this darkness rip the gloominess around me Had an unknown reason of being fearful for so long Thinking, if its touched by these horrendous winds Will unleash my sorrowful side & my mood swings! Aesthetically pleasing it is now, Couldn't yearn for it to be any better This oasis of serenity though, I trust will cast away all my darkness & dust!

When one looks back on the past, it is done with a feeling of regret that what is gone cannot be lived all over again.

I hate being so nostalgic about the Sixties.

All these things that we are very nostalgic for come from a place of technology dictating [art]. This time and place is no different.

Aberystwyth (n.) A nostalgic yearning which is in itself more pleasant than the thing being yearned for.

Even if people laughed at the notion of goodness, if they found it sentimental, or nostalgic, it didn't matter -- it was none of those things, he said, and it had to be fought for.

I began a lifelong affair with nostalgia, with only the vaguest notions of what I was nostalgic for.

I get nostalgic about having lived in Ames, Iowa, even though being a vegetarian in Iowa is not fun.

I'm a nostalgic person and I really like rehashing and digging around the mental trunks.

I like to add personal touches to my decorating style, including photographs and nostalgic items that remind me of family and home.

I'm in general a nostalgic person, but I don't know if I'm nostalgic for the 80s!

I listen to tapes a lot. I have a car that only (has a cassette player). I like the nostalgic factor.

I'm not nostalgic about the old city. I don't enjoy it that much. It was just a city with one emperor and the rest of them just rats or meaningless people.

I'm nostalgic and I do think about a "what if.

I'm too busy to be nostalgic, which is one of the reasons to keep busy. I'm not a very sentimental person.

I noticed in the late 1990s that my friends and I were already nostalgic for the 1980s, and by the turn of the century, VH1's 'I Love the '80s' gave all of us an accelerated nostalgia for our generation.

I'm definitely nostalgic about the music of my youth; The Clash and Fishbone and that whole music scene. I still have all that music to this day. There was some great music going on in the late 70s and 80s.

Nature inspires me because it's so peaceful. It makes me have an inward experience. It makes me reflective and nostalgic.

Our intention is to develop more subtlety in contemporary electronic sounds. We don't like nostalgic projects. We have disparate interests and many philosophical concerns. In the past 10 years, I have realized music in the classical tradition - I have composed for strings, brass, and electronic, and alp-horn!

I was obsessed with The Sound of Music. I always feel nostalgic watching it.

I was nostalgic even as a young man. Preferred listening to Opera not Bing Crossby.

Part of the trick of being happy is a refusal to allow oneself to become too nostalgic for the heady triumphs of one's youth.

Rather than getting nostalgic...embrace the new opportunities and challenges available to you now.

Prosperity has brought complications. Our lives are busier, faster, more stressful. They're nostalgic for a simpler, slower time.

Political thought in France is either nostalgic or Utopian.

To get nostalgic about other people's music, or even about your own, makes a terrible statement about the condition of your life and your prospects for the future.

There's something about the sound of a train that's very romantic and nostalgic and hopeful.

There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.

Usually, we have some of those nostalgic moments like, "Oh my god, I can't believe we survived that day," because filmmaking is such a wild roller coaster ride.

When you've lived through the golden age of photojournalism, there's no point in being nostalgic.

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.

You should approach technological things in a nostalgic way.

As Michael spoke, a flourish of horns and maracas blasted over the speakers. The music made Veronica think of Havana in the fifties, before Fidel Castro. Men in Panama hats and women in slinky dresses enjoying decadent lives before Communism's proverbial hammer swung down. Just like tsarist Russia. For a moment, Veronica was back in the Russian dream world of ornate palaces and complicated love affairs.

A strange breeze rustled through the clearing, temporarily overpowering the stink of trash and murk. It brought the smell of berries and wildflowers and clean rainwater, things that might've once been in these woods. Suddenly I was nostalgic for something I'd never knew.

Sounds Is Love of All, the World Sounds create soulful existence, When the oceans tide, it is sound; When fervency of love creates sympathy of sobbing, sighing, jubilating, and tears drops, it’s a hymn of sound and presence. When rains, it creates symphonies that therapeutic the body and mind, it is sound. There is sound. When sharing a glass of wine while looking at your significant other swallow its taste, There is sound. When night becomes morning, noise of the birds tweak, the dogs bark, pancakes sizzling on the pan, bees gathering for honey, it is sound. There is sound. When listening to music for a moodily Spirit, moving rhythmically to the music, it is sound. When coitus makes quakes, it is sound. In durations of lovemaking; the breathing, the objects banging, the thrusting, and the instrumental tones from the mouth, the kisses, the clapping and rubbing of flesh, it all surrounds the atmosphere, it is sound. There is sound. When love cuddles in your significant other sleeps, and hear breathing, heart beats, maneuvering, it is sound. There is sound. During intensity of love at its silence and loudest, there is sound. As penetration of love goes deep and pulls out a sound of intensity opens and reactions follow, it is sound. There is sound. Beauty is the penetrating sound of the verses, the Psalms, the Proverbs, the Song of Solomon, the Gospels, and overall the Holy Scriptures spoken from a fervent tongue, power of thought, and sensible recovery from what aches, in all its sound. Sound surrounds all ways. It is sound. Sound is therapy to the love and Spirit, a sound mind, in all, the world is sound.

Even the memory of cradling her in my arms is pure euphoria. And all that I ask out of life is that it be constant and unending euphoria.