Longing for something past — at closing (anag)

Usage examples of nostalgic.

I had the curious thought that these men were nostalgic for black-and-white, their longings dominated by achromatic values, personal extremes of postwar urban gray.

Being a cynic, I did not believe our sentimental hero was nostalgic for his Baetican bride of barely a few months, Claudia Rufma.

Viviana, chewing dulse, passed the time voicing nostalgic reflections about dinners at Court.

Moreover, Kundera ends his novel with a final nostalgic memory of the blue point which is Agnes and, in so doing, his entire novelistic score in seven movements.

She had left Brisalli to begin her apprenticeship with Sartol two winters ago and, since then, had not once felt nostalgic for her home.

The morning sunshine dazzled Planch, and the air was tinted pink, giving everything a warm, nostalgic glow.

It would be impossibly Christmassy and nostalgic were it not for the occasional glimpse of a Nazi uniform, leaving a jackbooted trail in the fresh snow.

Dietz said he kept them to use as nostalgic mementos and masturbatory material.

The engineer Vauban dammed the river here and sent it different ways, to make a moat around the fortified town: downstream of his beautiful bridge is a weir and a millstream and backwaters, and crooked streets through the seventeenth-century huddle, and the city fathers are busy restoring a nostalgic atmosphere with cobblestones and antique gas lamps, and rather pathetic corners of greenery.

I used to think that the call of the whippoorwill was a sweetly nostalgic sound, but never again.

This is not one of those embalmed adorations of nostalgic sentimentality.

The mall had a mainly nostalgic appeal, and in any case, it was like background music: she could absorb it without really noticing it.

The new four-frame comics, however, were overwhelmingly conservative and nostalgic in spirit, nothing more than old-fashioned depictions of practical jokes and bumblings.

The nostalgic wail of a tango sounded disembodiedly on the night air, without seeming to have any source, and you could tell that those upright under the pavilion roof in a small compact cluster were dancing, and not just standing there between the tables, only because each two were turned to face one another.

Craig thought, and had a sudden nostalgic twinge as he remembered that rutted, tortuous track through the bad lands below the Chobe river, that wide green tributary of the great Zambezi.