Quotes About Acceptance

Quando se cresce junto de uma figura tão fora do comum, a única revolta possível é o conformismo.

Não é preciso vigor nenhum para conquistar seja o que for», dizia ele, «tudo está podre e se rende, mas largar, saber deixar ir, isso é que conta.»

replaced the cigarette, took a plate of kidneys and bacon from the maid, and accepted a piece of bread from a plate proffered by Hilary.

There's a reason humans peg-out around eighty: prose fatigue. It looks like organ failure or cancer or stroke but it's really just the inability to carry on clambering through the assault course of mundane cause and effect. If we ask Sheila then we can't ask Ron. If I have the kippers now then it's quiche for tea. Four score years is about all the ifs and thens you can take. Dementia's the sane realisation you just can't be doing with all that anymore.

Your unavowed atrocities kill you from the inside out. What is the compulsion to tell the truth if not a moral compulsion? Jacqueline Delon had asked. She was wrong. It's a survival necessity. You can't live if you can't accept what you are, and you can't accept what you are if you can't say what you do. The power of naming, as old as Adam.

Thus she's discovered the Conradian truth: The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it...You do what you do because it's that or death.

It's just what you're stuck with, the lousy furniture you can't change. The educated me knows hell's nothing, a fiction I happened to inherit. The other me knows I'm going there. There must be a dozen mes these days, taking turns looking the other way." "It's the postmodern solution," I said. "Controlled multiple personality disorder. Pick a fiction and allocate it an aspect of yourself.

Expect nothing and you don't need the courage to hope, nor the strength to withstand disappointment when nothing comes.

He didn't protest much. Evidently he had a penchant for surrender.

She turned towards me, put her fingertips against my chest. She was enjoying it somewhat, too, the little betrayal of Mark's memory. She still loved him, differently; now and again there must be these retrospective cruelties, to consolidate her newness, to let her not love him in the old way.

You can't live if you can't accept what you are, and you can't accept what you are if you can't say what you do.

What is the compulsion to tell the truth if not a moral compulsion? Jacqueline Delon had asked. She was wrong. It's a survival necessity. You can't live if you can't accept what you are, and you can't accept what you are if you can't say what you do. The power of naming, as old as Adam. We

can't live if you can't accept what you are, and you can't accept what you are if you can't say what you do. The power of naming, as old as Adam.

The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it.

Every present anger derives from past weakness.

The lies you tell yourself. The necessary lies.

Peace is purchased in the currency of loss.

The first horror is there's horror. The second is you accommodate it.

I used to believe that anything was better than nothing. Now I know that sometimes nothing is better.

I did not know death then, that he is no more to be feared than the man on the black horse. He can be kind, time teaches us. He will lend a hand. Grace is his comrade, memory his foe. In the end he prevails, but triumphs not, so long as we remember.

She looked at him bravely now for the first time, at his face, the face from which a child had fled, and drew breath. She rose. Her eyes filled. She knew. He took her in his arms and kissed her ardently. Men in their hosts, young and old, innocent and corrupt, had paid her for her favors, but she put her arms about him of her own free will as though to give him what she could in recompense for this, the last gift she guessed, of his manhood.

Plus I think it would be good for men to know they have limits.

Sometimes the hardest part of the journey is believing you're worthy of the trip.

You can't love your mother or father if you don't also have the capacity to grieve their deaths and, perhaps even more so, grieve parts of their lives.