Phoebe Tonkin Quotes

When I smell pho, I just automatically think of my mom. All these nostalgic feelings and memories come rushing through my head.

Cooking certain dishes, like roast pork, reminds me of my mother.

Food brings back memories. I had a mom that wasn't a good cook, so I would eat my grandma's food. It was amazing because it brings back a time almost in Technicolor. I see her house, I see her stove; I think about what it felt like when I was sick, and it felt like love.

My earliest memory is making peach cobbler with my grandmother. A wonderful memory. I grew up in a restaurant family - B.B.Q. restaurant.

I liked the Ballarat train as a child.

You step over the threshold of your parents' home, and you're instantly transported back to your childhood. It's like time travel. You revert at once to a place of arrested development.

Smell is so powerful, you know. My grannies would both bake things like shortbreads and cookies. I think whenever I smell those kinds of things it really takes me back to my childhood.

I have many memories of waking up to eat breakfast that my mother carefully prepared for us and her saying, what do y'all want for lunch, and as we're eating lunch, what do y'all want for dinner? It's always about the next meal.

One of my favorite memories from growing up in Brazil is being in the kitchen with my family and watching everyone bake and cook.

A lot of people who come to my restaurant bring their parents over because it brings back good memories.

Every time you are on a tour you miss Indian food.

My mum was my primary school cook which was handy because she used to give me extra portions. After school me and my brother used to go in the kitchen and wait for her there, and she used to give us a bit of cake and things.

My maternal grandmother, Annie Sparks, lived with our family during the while I was growing up. When I came home from school, after having made a detour to the kitchen to pour a glass of milk and fix a thick peanut butter sandwich on easy-to-tear white bread, I would go up to her sitting room.

The first thing the boy Garion remembered was the kitchen at Faldor's farm. For all the rest of his life he had a special warm feeling for kitchens and those peculiar sounds and smells that seemed somehow to combine into a bustling seriousness that had to do with love and food and comfort and security and, above all, home. No matter how high Garion rose in life, he never forgot that all his memories began in that kitchen.

What he wanted was not just to hear about Hailsham, but to remember Hailsham, just like it had been his own childhood. He knew he was close to completing and so that's what he was doing: getting me to describe things to him, so they'd really sink in, so that maybe during those sleepless nights, with the drugs and the paint and the exhaustion, the line would blur between what were my memories and what were his.

Don't you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?

Memories of childhood were the dreams that stayed with you after you woke.

A sibling is the lens through which you see your childhood.

Smell can conjure up memories for me stronger than any other sense. Especially childhood memories. Perhaps because you were that much shorter and therefore closer to the ground and its smells.

If there is any realm where distinction is especially difficult, it is the realm of childhood memories, the realm of beloved images harbored in memory since childhood. These memories which live by the image and in virtue of the image become, at certain times of our lives and particularly during the quiet age, the origin and matter of a complex reverie: the memory dreams, and reverie remembers.

(...) Since I was a kid." "Which you refer to as 'back when you were happy.'" "Right.

What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.

I pictured my mom, alone in our little apartment on the Upper East Side. I tried to remember the smell of her blue waffles in the kitchen. It seemed so far away.

[T]ea, that uniquely English meal, that unnecessary collation at which no stimulants--neither alcohol nor meat--are served, that comforting repast of which to partake is as good as second childhood.

For me when I was growing up, some of the happiest times were when we went to a small island called Nantucket off Massachusetts.