nostalgia

I read this over today, for the first time since I wrote it. It's full of nostalgia, every word loaded with it, although at the time I wrote it I thought I was being 'objective.' Nostalgia for what? I don't know. Because I'd rather die than have to live through any of that again. And the 'Anna' of that time is like an enemy, or like an old friend one has known too well and doesn't want to see.

Journey to the end of day, Come the fire-fly, Come the moon; Say a prayer for God's good grace And sleep with lore upon your face.

an old villa surrounded by a garden looked to them like the image of a comforting home, the dream of an idyll long past.

I want each day to last forever . . . It's a peculiar kind of dissatisfaction, a bittersweet nostalgia for a moment not yet past. Even in the midst of a pleasurable outing I'm aware of how ephemeral it is.

I love the way he smelled whenever his head dipped close to hear what I was saying__ike 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.

I am old enough to enjoy a bit of nostalgia, but wise enough to know that there haven't been any "good ol' days" since Eden (the garden, not the prime minister).

When shall I cease to regret you! _ When learn to feel a home elsewhere! _ Oh! Happy house, could you know what I suffer in now viewing you from this spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more! _ And you, ye well-known trees! _ but you will continue the same. _ No leaf will decay because we are removed, nor any branch become motionless although we can observe you no longer! _ No; you will continue the same; unconscious of the pleasure or the regret you occasion, and insensible of any change in those who walk under your shade! _ But who will remain to enjoy you?

It's a peculiar kind of dissatisfaction, a bittersweet nostalgia for a moment not yet past.

It is always the same. Whether you are walking or going by train, the way always seems shorter the second time than the first. (And that is true of distances that are not to be measured in miles and yards.)

Mixed with the love we hold for our native country is the fact that it is the place where we were raised, and, should anything have gone a little wrong in this process, we will be reminded of this fault, by the scene of the crime, until the day we die.

Farewell, Timothy Riley__ Bar," Lane said softly. "Home of the nickel beer. Snooker emporium. Repository of Bluebird records, three for a dime. We honor you and your passing. Farewell. Farewell, Timothy Riley__nd terraplanes and rumbleseats and saddle shoes and Helen Forrest and the Triple-C camps and Andy Hardy and Lum ___ Abner and the world-champion New York Yankees! Rest in peace, you age of innocence__ou beautiful, serene, carefree, pre-Pearl Harbor, long summer night. We__l never see your likes again.

We long to have again the vanished past, in spite of all its pain.

The old London was fading from her memory. She no longer expected to see the shops that had been bombed when she passed familiar streets. In many places the sites were being redeveloped. That__ what seemed real now _ the new buildings and the flats above them. As she hit her stride, Mirabelle smiled. It felt good to be in the big city again and on her way.

Nostalgia. It haunts us, it destroys us, and sometimes, its sentimentality consumes us piece by piece so that we may realize our once-familiar circumstance may never again return. It is a state of mind best indulged infrequently.

He decided that we suffer from great temporal homesickness for the decade we were born in.

How could she feel nostalgia when he was right in front of her? How can you suffer from the absence of a person who is present? You can suffer nostalgia in the presence of the beloved if you glimpse a future where the beloved is no more

_nostalgia is, by definition, the least authentic of all feelings.

... nostalgia was once thought to be a mental illness or a physical affliction; for me, it was both.