Quotes About Acceptance

Not everyone is meant to change the world. We let the world change around us. We let it die if it will. We live small lives, constrained by habit and fear.

we don't sit enough with our grief and let our bodies process it.

It was a universal welcome—Make yourself at home; Mi casa es su casa; Ahlan wa-sahlan; Baruch habah

It does no good to regret the past... yet regret remains just the same.

You bite the bullet and get on with it. One can't expect to be happy all the time ... You expect to be happy, as if it's a right. It's not a right. It's a bonus. The cherry on the cake.

A todos nos pasa como a Cristo, al final nos reconocen por las heridas.

La tercera edad no es una lucha: es una carnicería. Cada día trae un nuevo dolor y con él una nueva capitulación

You complain because you do not belong here. And your complaint becomes evidence you do not belong here. When the judgment that you do not belong here has already been made, you have to work hard not to provide evidence to support that judgment. She

that in some parental responses to a child coming out, this unhappiness is expressed not so much as being unhappy about the child being queer, but as being unhappy about the child being unhappy.

Lord, on this day, please grant us the serenity to accept all that we cannot change, the courage to change the things we need to, and your everlasting wisdom so that we may know the difference.

We all want to be someone else. And sometimes we succeed in convincing ourselves we can be. But it doesn't last, and our true selves, broken and scarred, always win out in the end.

Happiness is the temporary result of denying the knowledge one already has.

I was glad I wasn't pretty anymore. It was so much easier to do things like this without being pretty.

In your thirties something strange starts to happen. It's a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I'm — you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you're not. You're thirty-five. And then you're bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it's decades before you admit it.

I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in teh hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.

He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. He's ill, Jacob. I say nothing. He's a paragon schnitzophonic. He's what?! Paragon schnitzophonic, repeats Uncle Al. You mean paranoid schizophrenic? Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter...

I just can't. I'm married. I made my bed and now I have to lie in it.

So what if I'm ninety-three? So what if I'm ancient and cranky and my body's a wreck? If they're willing to accept me and my guilty conscience, why the hell shouldn't I run away with the circus? It's like Charlie told the cop. For this old man, this is home.

It seems there's nothing so good or pure it can't be taken without a moment's notice. And then in the end, it all gets taken anyway.

Even as your body betrays you, your mind denies it

I cling to my anger with every ounce of humanity left in my ruined body, but it's no use. It slips away, like a wave from shore. I am pondering this sad fact when I realize the blackness of sleep is circling my head. It's been there awhile, biding its time and growing closer with each revolution. I give up on rage, which at this point has become a formality, and make a mental note to get angry again in the morning. Then I let myself drift, because there's really no fighting it.

I realize the blackness of sleep is circling my head. It's been there awhile, biding its time and growing closer with each revolution. I give up on rage, which at this point has become a formality, and make a mental note to get angry again in the morning. Then I let myself drift, because there's really no fighting it.

no matter how hard you try you will never be perfect so just except it.

I get poked and prodded like this every morning. I'm like a piece of meat unearthed from the back of the fridge, suspect until proven otherwise.