Nostalgia! I feel it even for someone who meant nothing to me, out of anxiety for the flight of time and a sickness bred of the mystery of life. If one of the faces I pass daily on the streets disappears, I feel sad; yet they meant nothing to me, other than being a symbol of all life.
The leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark
Music is...a form of remembering, a return to the seasons of the heart long gone.
Nostalgia is a form of depression both for a society and an individual.
Nostalgia keeps dissolving the ironic narratives in which I have contained my past.
Either the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day; or the agonies which are have their origins in ecstasies which might have been.
The zipper displaces the button and a man lacks just that much time to think while dressing at dawn, a philosophical hour, and thus a melancholy hour.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Each night I lie down in a graveyard of memories. Moonlight spins a shroud about me.
