Ah, my dad's whistle. On holidays when I was a kid, we would all be off in the rock pools along the beach. When it came time to go, we'd hear the whistle and we'd all come running. Like dogs!

I think a lot about when times were simpler, when I was still dancing and living with my parents. I really miss living at home sometimes. I get really sad.

My favorite holiday memory was sitting at home all day in my pajamas during winter break for school watching a bunch of old Christmas movies like 'Jack Frost' and 'Rudolph the Red - Nosed Reindeer'...

I loved all of the 'Zenon' movies. Those were my jam mostly because of the fashion. I loved something about the space buns and the weird neon colors. I couldn't just wear that in real life because...

I hope I go to Heaven, and when I do, I'm going to do what every San Franciscan does when he gets there. He looks around and says, 'It ain't bad, but it ain't San Francisco.'

That amazing time in our lives is gone, and will never return. All the beautiful possibilities we had then have been swallowed up in the flow of time.

These rotary dials were like meditation, they forced you to slow down and concentrate. If you polled the next number too soon, you had to start over from the top.

Tell me you've seen the world. Now, you've come back home. Tell me you've carried me with you, That you've held me close. Tell me you've missed me Or that I'm not crazy for waiting cause Of all the...

In the old pieces of furniture almost as in the old paintings, dwells the charm of the past, of the faded which becomes stronger in a man when he reaches an advanced age.

He was, out of all sight {as I remember him}, the nicest boy that ever spun a top or broke a window.

The older I get the more I enjoy my childhood…! ~James A. Murphy

There was nothing better than the feel of a book in your hand, listening to the crinkling sounds as you turned its pages and the smell of its crisp paper.

I am hopelessly in love with a memory. An echo from another time, another place.

As truth be told, homecoming never gets old.

I run my finger along the crease of the envelope, feel the weight of history inside. Wherever I'm going next, these are coming with me.

So... just kissing ... ? If he was disappointed, he didn't show it. Kudos to him. "Some feeling up is allowed, but nothing below the waist. And absolutely no sex." Just saying it out loud was getting...

We had some good times at school. I didn't know how good those times was till I left, but I guess that's the way of it

And yet it was not authentic, of course, because no real boardwalk of 1910 had been this perfect. It was like a fondly remembered nostalgic confection, a past sanitized of its imperfections,...

In addition to the smells of mince and pumpkin pies, the Sage and onions of turkey stuffing, another aroma floated in the air, the very essence of Santa Claus. Years later, when I was grown up, I...

Sometimes John had recorded new compositions, or lines from his new poems. Sometimes he'd just record a busy night in The Green Man. Sometimes sheep, seals, skylarks, the wind turbine. If Liam were...

"Bundle!" Chuck shouted again, nonsensically, as he hurled himself on top of them. It was as if he were re-creating a scene from some dumb college frat movie he'd loved but no one else had ever seen.

the taste for Victorian-era sci-fi futures is more than anything else a nostalgia for the last moment, before the carnage of World War I, when everyone could safely feel a redemptive future was...

Growing up ruins everything

She let Howard reinvent, retouch. When, on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, Jerome had played his parents an ethereal, far more beautiful version of 'Hallelujah' by a kid called Buckley, Kiki...

The nostalgia I have been cherishing all these years is a hypertrophied sense of lost childhood, not sorrow for lost banknotes.

It shocks me how I wish for...what is lost and cannot come back.

Why deny the obvious need for memory?

Our misconception in viewing the past lies in assuming that doubt and fear, permit, protests, violence and hate were not equally present.

I may not know who I am, but I know where I am from.

Memory believes before knowing remembers.{Light in August}