Quotes About Gratitude

I never thanked you for saving my life" she finally said softly. " I never thanked you for not leaving me to die" he responded without hesitation, as though he, too, had been waiting to say the words for a long while but had never found the right time

Once upon a time, I did not live in Shady Pines. Once upon a time, my name was not Alice. Once upon a time, I didn't know how lucky I was.

Talking about someone who makes you happy actually makes you happy. Being happy makes you want to talk, to go over everything, to share it so you can remember it all over again.

Darling, the world doesn't owe you anything.

I will always know what life can take, but I am ready to see what it can give.

I know what it's like to wake up in the morning, every morning, with a smile in my heart.

I thought how when I got out of the hospital I would never again walk down the sidewalk without giving thanks for being one of those people

one of those things about getting older was knowing that so many moments weren't just moments, they were gifts.

You're an easy woman to please," he had said to her. And she had said, "You may be the first person to think that.

But here was the world, screeching its beauty at her day after day, and she felt grateful for it.

But here they were, and Olive pictured two slices of Swiss cheese pressed together, such holes they brought to this union—what pieces life took out of you. Her eyes were closed, and throughout her tired self swept waves of gratitude—and regret. She pictured the sunny room, the sun-washed wall, the bayberry outside. It baffled her, the world. She did not want to leave it yet.

He had a friend. He would have said this if he could, he would have said it, but there was no need: Like his sweet Sophia who loved her Snowball, Abel had a friend. And if such a gift could come to him at such a time, then anything-dear girl from Rockford dressed up for her meeting, rushing above the Rock River-he opened his eyes, and yes, there it was, the perfect knowledge: Anything was possible for anyone.

say—every morning he said this—"Lucy B, Lucy B, how did we meet? I thank God we

this huge, sprawling place had taken me in—had let me live there. This is what I feel almost every time I see it from the sky. I felt

On the "hit-thumb theory" : "On his grandfather's roof as a child one summer, hammering tiles down hard, he'd discovered that if you hammered your thumb by mistake, there was a split second when you thought: Hey, this isn't so bad, considering how hard I was hit… And then—after that moment of false, bewildered, and grateful relief—came the crash and crush of real pain.

And how nice, really, that people should celebrate with such earnestness this time of year. No matter what people's lives might hold (some of these houses they were passing would have to hold some woeful tribulations, Janie knew), still and all, people were compelled to celebrate because they knew somehow, in their different ways, that life was a thing to celebrate.

I got on the train, and what I remember is watching New Jersey as the sun came up, and feeling so grateful for my home, so deeply, deeply grateful to be going home to New York, to my home with my husband and my girls. I will never forget it. I loved them all that much—oh desperately I loved them. So there was that as well.

He understood that he was a seventy-four-year-old man who looks back at life and marvels that it unfolded as it did, who feels unbearable regret for all the mistakes made.

Long ago he'd assigned a private name to it. The hit-thumb theory. on his grandfather's rood as a child one summer, hammering tiles down hard, he'd discovered that if you hammered your thumb by mistake, there was a split second when you thought: Hey, this isn't so bad, considering how hard I was hit... And then—after that moment of false, bewildered, and grateful relief—came the crash and crush of real pain.

Had they known at these moments to be quietly joyful?

Al ver Nueva York por la ventanilla, sentí lo que he sentido casi siempre cuando vuelvo a Nueva York en avión: asombro y gratitud a esta inmensa ciudad por haberme acogido, por haberme permitido vivir en ella.

Her eyes were closed, and throughout her tired self swept waves of gratitude—and regret. She pictured the sunny room, the sun-washed wall, the bayberry outside. It baffled her, the world. She did not want to leave it yet.

Olive's private view is that life depends on what she thinks of as "big bursts" and "little bursts." Big bursts are things like marriage or children, intimacies that keep you afloat, but these big bursts hold dangerous, unseen currents. Which is why you need the little bursts as well: a friendly clerk at Bradlee's, let's say, or the waitress at Dunkin' Donuts who knows how you like your coffee. Tricky business, really.

He thought of all the people in the world who felt they'd been saved by a city. He was one of them.