Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar...

Memory believes before knowing remembers.

[Light in August]

How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home.

True nostalgia is an ephemeral composition of disjointed memories

From an evolutionary point of view, most emotions - fear, desire, anger - serve some practical purpose, but nostalgia is a useless, futile thing because it is a longing for something that is permanently lost . . . .

What matters is at the end of life, when you're about to pass into oblivion, that you've at least scratched 'Kilroy was here,' on the last wall of the universe.