Dwight Yoakam Quotes

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

All my life, Following Care along the dusty road, Have I looked back on loveliness and sighed.

..I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

When the word 'nostalgia' was coined in the 18th century, it was used to describe a pathology - not so much a sense of lost time, but a severe homesickness.

Nostalgia is something we think of as fuzzy. But it's pain. Pain concerning the past.

Nostalgia, the vice of the aged. We watch so many old movies our memories come in monochrome.

Whenever I think of the past, it brings back so many memories.

I always make a distinction between nostalgia and sentimentality. Nostalgia is genuine - you mourn things that actually happened.

South Bend is a nice town, but you know that phrase - 'I was homesick even when I was home.'

Nostalgia is a strange and powerful emotion. As much we try and fight it and fight ourselves, it's very hard not to.

The thought of the weekends I used to have now makes me shake.

For whatever reason, I've always gravitated towards music that feels nostalgic or longing or beautifully tragic.

God, I wish you could have been there.

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

I cling to my memories of glorious desperation.

O that one unguarded moment! / Were it mine to live again, / All the strength of its temptation / Would appeal to me in vain.

I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.

When you get to be my age there are more and more people you have known that you miss. Brion [Gysin], Antony Balch, Ian Summerville are ones I think of right away I was quite close to.

Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?

This is a difference between us: you desire what other people have, while I desire the things I used to have, or think I might have one day.

Take back the smile and the night, take it all back, I wish I could.

Now that I think of it, she looked splendid. I wish I had met her somewhere else. I wish I had appreciated her as she deserved. I wish that everything had gone differently.

Sometimes I think of you and I feel giddy. Memory makes me lightheaded, drunk on champagne. All the things we did. And if anyone has said this was the price I would have agreed to pay it. That surprises me; that with the hurt and the mess comes a shift of recognition. It was worth it. Love is worth it.

Remembering the ball became for Emma a daily occupation. Every time Wednesday came round, she told herself when she woke up: 'Ah! One week ago...two weeks ago...three weeks ago, I was there!' And, little by little, in her memory, the faces all blurred together; she forgot the tunes of the quadrilles; no longer could she so clearly picture the liveries and the rooms; some details disappeared, but the yearning remained.

I found myself in the changed man theory the other night thinking, "Yeah." I thought, "My god. If we could do this again," but there was nothing specific there. There's just the kind of vague sensation of how I'd like it to go. I allowed myself that gift to think that.