It was a wonderful night, such a night as is only possible when we are young, dear reader.

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.

You know, when you're young, you have moments of such happiness, you think you're living in someplace magical, like Atlantis must have been. Then we grow up, and our hearts break in two.

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.

Aryami Bose's home had been closed up for years, inhabited only by books and paintings, but the spectre of thousands of memories imprisoned between its walls still permeated the house.

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...

Not even a repeat of Dawson's Creek makes me feel better.

I looked at her and sighed. In another world, I thought to myself, it might have worked. In another world, in another universe, in another time, as two quite different people, we really might have...

... Tell me what he was like as a baby." "Why, Margaret, you must not be hurt, but he was much prettier than you were. I remember, when I first saw you in Dixon's arms, I said, 'Dear, what an ugly...

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

Too bad there wasn't a Valencia filter to smooth out memories.

Trey was singing softly to an old Belle and Sebastian song.

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,...

There you'll find the place I love most in the world. The place where I grew thin from dreaming. My village, rising from the plain. Shaded with trees and leaves like a piggy bank filled with memories....

Although he could have been wearing a seventies lounge suit and she probably would have drooled over the polyester.

I don't trust electronics. Anything manufactured after the forties is suspect - and doesn't seem to have much liking for me. You name it: cars, radios, telephones, TVs, VCRs - none of them seem to...

I would do anything to make you happy because no one had ever smelled like you did. It was candy canes and pinecones. It was epic and awesome. and it was home.

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...

After Marlee was born they rented videos and fell asleep in front of them. Now, like so much else in Jackson's world, videos were obsolete.

Growing up ruins everything

Give me homesickness. Give me nostalgic childhood yearnings.

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...

Take it where you can find it, in old photograph records, old motion pictures, and in old friends; look for it in nature and look for it in yourself.

Stormy skies, says Ernesto. He grieved for them. Summer rain. Childhood.

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