Quotes About Acceptance

he didn't feel pity for Macleod, despite all the humiliations and infirmities visited upon him. These he regarded as inevitabilities; indeed, he nowadays regarded most things that happened as inevitabilities.

Ás veces penso que o sentido da vida é desgastarnos para reconciliarnos coa súa perda final, demostrándonos que, á marxe do tempo que lle leve, a vida non está en absoluto á altura da súa propia fama.

now some were keeping themselves at bay, having reached the age when illness arrives. There were emails about prostate cancer, and back operations, and that little bit of heart trouble which maybe wasn't such good news. Vitamin pills and statins were consumed, while the World Service kept them company in their sleeplessness. And soon, no doubt, the funeral years would begin.

Destiny. It was just a grand term for something you could do nothing about.

People say of death, 'There's nothing to be frightened of'. They say it quickly, casually. Now let's say it again, slowly, with re-emphasis. 'There's NOTHING to be frightened of'. Jules Renard: 'The word that is most true, most exact, most filled with meaning, is the word nothing'.

I tried to explain about refusing an unsought gift, about action versus passivity.

People say of death, 'There's nothing to be frightened of.' They say it quickly, casually. Now let's say it again, slowly, with re-emphasis. 'There's NOTHING to be frightened of.' Jules Renard: "The word that is most true, most exact, most filled with meaning, is the word nothing'.

His life had not been wrecked. His heart, yes, his heart had been cauterised. But he had found a way to live, and continued with that life, which had brought him to here. And from here, he had a duty to see himself as he had once been. Strange how, when you are young, you owe no duty to the future; but when you are old, you owe a duty to the past. To the one thing you can't change.

it is better to be gullible than suspicious.

Anne Trenchard was a practical woman, and one of her chief virtues was that she did not linger over a disaster but sought, almost immediately, to remedy what could be remedied and to accept what could not.

Here, falling in love can be an event, a proclamation without acknowledging that everyone you love could die an awful death, that loving someone is an acceptance of impending loss.

First, you hand over some basics--overwhelming joy, existential angst, a giving-in to desire, etc. And then you promise to withstand talking idly about the weather, to encourage cliché, to uphold the virtues of average. You hand over the need to be understood and, in return, you get a bar of Normal soap. And you can wash in it and be daily reborn to a safe world of modest, enduring love or, at least, mild, well-mannered bonding.

She let him go once. Every day demands that she release him over and over again. She clenches her fists and thinks, Will he find me again? And she tells herself, No. Don't want this. Let him go.

His wings - she's never seen them fully spread, massive and strong. She wants to tell him that this is how he was meant to be - as wrong as it was for her to do this to him, as wrong as it feels, he is this person in this moment, and there's nothing more beautiful.

People never outgrow wanting to be liked for being who they truly are, especially when they've grown up in the limelight or its shadowy edge.

Olmak istedi?imiz ki?i olamay?z her zaman.

She felt the pain of his loss inside her like a savage hook. She wanted to reach into him and take it out, as though it were shrapnel. But the pain was old to him, and somehow it had become a part of him. He could bear it and speak of it. It had shaped him; he had accommodated it. He had loved and he had lost and it had made him who he was.

Let's refer to it as Saturday, rather than the day of my hanging, shall we?

Be kind to the spider. It's simply working hard to be itself. And don't tell the maids

We did everything we could to save him, to defend him and still we knew he was going to die. One never feels more like speck upon the breast of the universe in those moments.

It was all there was of life: moments of grace between the upheavals and changes.

They regarded each other somberly, making internal adjustments to accommodate the mere glorious fact of each other.

She didn't want to need anything, particularly something—or someone—she quite simply couldn't have. Too much had been taken from her already, and she'd had enough of accommodating pain, of straightening her spine, of soldiering on

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.