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Quote by David Berliner

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Losing Culture: Nostalgia, Heritage, and Our Accelerated Times

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David Berliner

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“Planet Brilliant by Stewart Stafford Verse 1: This is a radio broadcast from Planet Brilliant, You can only hear it now because I'm so resilient, Don't you ever tell me now that it can't be done, I'll be laughing at you when I'm number one. Verse 2: A meteor invitation from Planet Brilliant, Your intergalactic pirate, one-in-a-trillion, Help me sort my Mars from my Milky Ways, An interstellar party with no nights or days. Chorus: Planet Brilliant, my cosmic dream, Eternal big bang of a winning team, Roaring through the stars, high and free, Planet Brilliant - the galaxy of me, Got the man on the moon's jealous spite, Of this rockstar strutting in bright starlight. Verse 3: Welcome aboard this rocketship ride, To Planet Brilliant, no gravity wild side, A case of open minds over dark matter, Breakfast with stardust pancake batter. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

HumorAmbitionScience FictionNostalgiaRock MusicOasisSong LyricsBritpopNoel GallagherLiam Gallagher
Author:Stewart Stafford
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“I'm not in search of sanctity, sacredness, purity; these things are found after this life, not in this life; but in this life I search to be completely human: to feel, to give, to take, to laugh, to get lost, to be found, to dance, to love and to lust, to be so human.”

LifeInspirationalInspirationInspirational QuotesHumanityPassionHuman NatureInspirational LifeLivingLife And LivingHumanDancingHumanismPurityFeelingLiving LifeSanctitySacredness
Author:C. JoyBell C.
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“Nostalgia for the U.S.S.R. is an important feature of Russia today, and a political factor not to be underestimated. Long before Donald Trump's clarion call to "Make America Great Again," Vladimir Putin had uttered the unofficial slogan of his reign, "We shall be as respected and feared as the U.S.S.R." This rhetoric was employed from the first steps he took on coming to power. I thought it laughable and was sure it wouldn't work, but I was wrong. It is a banal thought, but the human brain really is designed in a way that means you return in memory only to what was good in the past. Those who feel nostalgic for the U.S.S.R. are in reality nostalgic for their youth-a time when everything was still in the future, when you played volleyball on the beach in the company of friends, and in the evening drank wine, grilled kebabs, and had no worries about crime, unemployment, or uncertain prospects for the future. Even such archetypally Soviet absurdities as being sent to "dig up potatoes," compulsory work in the fields to which schoolchildren, students, and the workers of city enterprises were dispatched in the later years of the U.S.S.R., are remembered as merely a distraction, pretty awful but fun. At the time, having to dig up frozen ground, "helping the collective farm workers save the harvest," irritated everybody and only demonstrated the total failure of the Soviet agricultural system. But who remembers the rubber boots that pinched, the dirt under your fingernails, and the sense of the utter pointlessness of the labor, when it is all eclipsed by a picture in your head of a female classmate smiling dazzlingly at you from the neighboring plot.”

NostalgiaHistorical Revisionism
Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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“The City That Holds Me The sidewalks I stumble on more than once
Make me feel like I am walking home. The place cold enough to die for, Yet I walk towards the next day without freezing. The river that drowns my words,
As I wander its same stretch, up and down. My chapels know my favourite corners,
Where I light my candles each good Sunday.”

PoetryNostalgiaRomanticismDark AcademiaContemporary PoetryLiterary PoetryMelancholic PoetryEthereal SolitudePoetic ImageryUrban Poetry
Book:The Willow Song
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“Pothole in the Sky My veins ground too deep to become a statue,
And the flight is delayed too late—
So I take off again. I take off without the vein of the city
That lifts me to heaven with a million lights
And a few streets in between. The darkness blooms like a desert,
And in my aeroplane, I become a small flower,
Travelling too far and without sight. Clouds outside windows become a stair frame,
And the dark blue of mornings drifts by,
While I dream of Paris and every thought That drifted by.”

PoetryNostalgiaRomanticismDark AcademiaContemporary PoetryLiterary PoetryMelancholic PoetryEthereal SolitudePoetic ImageryTravel Poetry
Book:The Willow Song
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