Charles Dudley Warner Quotes

Nostalgia is not what it used to be.

You remember some bedrooms you have slept in. There are bedrooms you like to remember and others you would like to forget.

When you finally go back to your old home, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood.

I'm a nostalgic guy.

I love talking to my friends at uni and seeing what they are doing. They're just finishing their dissertations, and I kind of wish I could live their life for a second. I wish my school days could have dragged on a little longer, or that I could go back and do it later in life.

If the portraits of our absent friends are pleasant to us, which renew our memory of them and relieve our regret for their absence by a false and empty consolation, how much more pleasant are letters which bring us the written characters of the absent friend.

I remember my youth and the feeling that will never come back any more

They say that Hope is happiness But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose first -- they set the last. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adored and lost Hath melted into memory. Alas! It is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are.

I'd trade all my tomorrows for one single yesterday.

I used to dream about turning back time, about reclaiming the things I'd lost and the person I used to be.

I remember when I used to be really into nostalgia.

It becomes increasingly easy, as you get older, to drown in nostalgia.

Footfalls echo in the memory, down the passage we did not take, towards the door we never opened, into the rose garden.

One of the reasons why old people make so many journeys into the past is to satisfy themselves that it is still there.

Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.

But standing in that hallway, it was all coming back to me. Memories were waiting at the edges of things, beckoning to me.

I guess it's a sequel to our story From the journey 'tween heaven and hell With half the time thinking of what might have been and half thinkin' just as well. I guess only time will tell.

It's funny how close the past is, sometimes. Sometimes it seems as if you could almost reach out and touch it. Only who really wants to?

I would trade all my tomorrow's for one single yesterday.

And as we live our lives we discover - drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each - what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them.

Strangely enough, this is the past that somebody in the future is longing to go back to.

Every time I open the drawer, it's a trip down Memory Lane, which, if you don't turn off at the right exit, merges straight into the Masochistic Nostalgia Highway.

It is strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures.