Quotes About Community

The new world was the same as the old. The houses were different, the streets were called Closes, the clothes were different, the voices were different, but the human beings were the same as they always had been.

She craved solitude, but not infinite solitude.

It seemed as if humans had lost the ability to make their own fun. The more they were gifted with inventions, the less they needed one another. They didn't sing or play the fiddle at the hearth; they turned on the stereo. They didn't tell stories on the porch; they watched television.

You can't come wandering around in at all hours of the night looking like you've been- Raped? Not to worry, Estertown's been safe for three years now, Dad.

All right, cow patties, I say we forget about why we're in this town, the new addition to the family, and what lies ahead, and invite a few of these hometown fillies to our table and see what happens.

One of my favorite things about hanging out with the monsters is the healing. Straight humans seemed to get killed on me a lot. Monsters survived. Let's hear it for the monsters.

Vampires are people too!

It means black kitten, I said with my pulse almost even again. Ares studied me. And you're ok with them calling you their black kitten? They're wererats, Ares, I said. He frowned at me. They're not calling me their little black rat. Think it through.

I am the Executioner. Murder someone in my town, and I'm the one that you get to see. Once.

I really wish the "normal" people would leave us freaks alone and stop trying to save us. We get by, we take care of each other, and the people who cost the freaks their jobs didn't give them employment, or a place to stay, or a family to be a part of; they just destroyed their world and felt morally superior for doing it.

Together we are more than we are apart, Anita, that is what love is.' I

We lose too many people that way, both male and female. Twenty-two combat veterans die every day in the United States alone from suicide, and it isn't just soldiers who have just come home from their tours of duty. There is no statute of limitations on nightmares and depression. With numbers like that, we need to start talking to one another more.

It is not merely happiness we all seek. We seek some place where we belong. For the lucky few, we find it in childhood with our own families. But for most of us we spend our adult lives seeking that place or person or organization that makes us feel that we are important, that we matter, and that without us something would go undone and undoable. We all need to feel that we are irreplaceable.

for though he never after went to the house, yet he never met Bridget in the village, but he would either nod or wink, or smile, or look kindly at her,—or (as circumstances directed), he would shake her by the hand,—or ask her lovingly how she did,—or would give her a ribban,—and now and then, though never but when it could be done with decorum, would give Bridget a—

Technology is the campfire around which we tell our stories.

And there was a beutiful view But nobody could see Cause everybody on the island Was saying Look at me! Look at me.

and there was a beautiful view but nobody could see cause everybody on the island was saying look at me

Y había una hermosa vista, pero nadie la pudo ver, porque todos en la isla decían: ¡Mírenme! ¡Mírenme!

No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.

For the socially timid, the kitchen is the place to be. At least, it is a place to start.

In foreign countries I am drawn into grocery shops, supermarkets and kitchen supply houses. I explain this by reminding my friends that, as I was taught in my Introduction to Anthropology, it is not just the Great Works of mankind that make a culture. It is the daily things, like what people eat and how they serve it.

Out on the street I felt lost wandering around without my child. I felt I ought to wear a pin that said: I have a child in school at the moment.

I stand in the center aisle of the auditorium, a wounded zebra in a National Geographic special, looking for someone, anyone to sit next to. A predator approaches: gray jock buzz cut, whistle around a neck thicker than his head. Probably a social studies teacher, hired to coach a blood sport.

They're on their way to the foreign-language wing. That's no surprise. The foreign kids are always here, like they need to breathe air scented with their native language a couple times a day or they'll choke to death on too much American.