Food for thought from "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire:
I just think, like our teachers here, that if ministers are effective, they're good at asking questions to get you to think. I don't think they're supposed to have the answers. Not necessarily.
Nanny, don't gossip, it hurts my soul.
That's doubt for you, it scours hope out of everything.
You may be right. You know, I'm getting used to stiff muscles in the morning. Sometimes I think that vengeance is habit forming too. A stiffness of the attitude.
Thursday
Food for thought from "The Good Wife Strikes Back" by Elizabeth Buchan:
I'm biding my time, she said. It's an art all women have to develop.
You get tired of everything. The question is, what do you tire of least?
As the professor had argued so cogently, being good and being truthful were not necessarily the same.
I'm biding my time, she said. It's an art all women have to develop.
You get tired of everything. The question is, what do you tire of least?
As the professor had argued so cogently, being good and being truthful were not necessarily the same.
Tuesday
Food for thought from "The Traveling Death and Resurrection Show" by Ariel Gore:
[book read in January 2007]
You ever get the feeling that your destiny is way bigger than the life you're living?
Sometimes it is right to battle death, but sometimes death has its reasons.
... one day you return ... and when you do, you will not be a stranger. This is the beauty of home.
What if our characters aren't measured by the way we live day-to-day? What if we're judged instead at moments like these, angry and running?
If you've abdicated your right to create your own life, vow to take it back. If you're ruled by your possessions, give them away. When you've finally cleared your head - after thirteen hours or thirteen years - descend from the mountain and do your work in the world.
Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, but at the love with which we do them.
Oh, Frankka. Anyone can be a saint on a mountaintop.
All things are passing. God alone abideth.
And embrace the radical notion that you can please God by being simply and untheatrically yourself.
[book read in January 2007]
You ever get the feeling that your destiny is way bigger than the life you're living?
Sometimes it is right to battle death, but sometimes death has its reasons.
... one day you return ... and when you do, you will not be a stranger. This is the beauty of home.
What if our characters aren't measured by the way we live day-to-day? What if we're judged instead at moments like these, angry and running?
If you've abdicated your right to create your own life, vow to take it back. If you're ruled by your possessions, give them away. When you've finally cleared your head - after thirteen hours or thirteen years - descend from the mountain and do your work in the world.
Our Lord does not look so much at the greatness of our actions, nor even at their difficulty, but at the love with which we do them.
Oh, Frankka. Anyone can be a saint on a mountaintop.
All things are passing. God alone abideth.
And embrace the radical notion that you can please God by being simply and untheatrically yourself.
Thursday
Food for thought from "The Life all around me by Ellen Foster" by Kaye Gibbons:
When I told her I needed to lie there and feel like dirt a few more minutes, she said, I know you do.
Laura asked for nothing but the honor of having a girl like me, to look after and hold her daily conversations and customs with.
You can't make people behave, she said, by force of will, and you should try harder not to panic when things feel a little out of place.
He stopped walking and blurted out, If you think you're better than people like Mrs. Thumb, can you try to hide it harder so I can have a good time?
Then Laura said, The truth is not so bad, Ellen, that you need to create a story and worry yourself with it.
I've pulled myself out of many blue days just by saying I must be all right, there must be something right about me, if a person this rare and good chose me.
When I told her I needed to lie there and feel like dirt a few more minutes, she said, I know you do.
Laura asked for nothing but the honor of having a girl like me, to look after and hold her daily conversations and customs with.
You can't make people behave, she said, by force of will, and you should try harder not to panic when things feel a little out of place.
He stopped walking and blurted out, If you think you're better than people like Mrs. Thumb, can you try to hide it harder so I can have a good time?
Then Laura said, The truth is not so bad, Ellen, that you need to create a story and worry yourself with it.
I've pulled myself out of many blue days just by saying I must be all right, there must be something right about me, if a person this rare and good chose me.
Tuesday
Food for thought from "Fear Nothing" by Dean Koontz:
I believe in the possibility of miracles, but more to the point, I believe in our need for them.
One thing I love about people is their ability to be lifted so high by the smallest drafts of hope.
How strange this world is: Those things that we can so readily touch, those things so real to the senses . . . are far less real than things we cannot touch or taste or smell or see. Bicycles and the boys who ride them are less real than what we feel in our minds and hearts, less substantial than friendship and love and loneliness, all of which long outlast the world.
Sometimes there is no darker place than our own thoughts: the moonless midnight of the mind.
Because I was not expected to survive to adulthood, my parents raised me to play, to have fun, to indulge my sense of wonder, to live as much as possible without worry and without fear, to live in the moment with little concern for the future: in short, to trust in God and to believe that I, like everyone, am here for a purpose; to be as grateful for my limitations as for my talents and blessings, because both are part of a design beyond my comprehension.
Like all of us in this storm between birth and death, I can wreak no great changes on the world, only small changes for the better, I hope, in the lives of those I love, which means that to live I must care not about what I am but about what I can become, not about the past but about the future, not even so much about myself as about the bright circle of friends who provide the only light in which I am able to flourish.
I believe in the possibility of miracles, but more to the point, I believe in our need for them.
One thing I love about people is their ability to be lifted so high by the smallest drafts of hope.
How strange this world is: Those things that we can so readily touch, those things so real to the senses . . . are far less real than things we cannot touch or taste or smell or see. Bicycles and the boys who ride them are less real than what we feel in our minds and hearts, less substantial than friendship and love and loneliness, all of which long outlast the world.
Sometimes there is no darker place than our own thoughts: the moonless midnight of the mind.
Because I was not expected to survive to adulthood, my parents raised me to play, to have fun, to indulge my sense of wonder, to live as much as possible without worry and without fear, to live in the moment with little concern for the future: in short, to trust in God and to believe that I, like everyone, am here for a purpose; to be as grateful for my limitations as for my talents and blessings, because both are part of a design beyond my comprehension.
Like all of us in this storm between birth and death, I can wreak no great changes on the world, only small changes for the better, I hope, in the lives of those I love, which means that to live I must care not about what I am but about what I can become, not about the past but about the future, not even so much about myself as about the bright circle of friends who provide the only light in which I am able to flourish.
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