Quotes About Acceptance

She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease: her skin felt as though it was her right size.

So much of this trip had been spent gazing at spectacular sights, which always filled me, as this one did now, with agonizing frustration. Why couldn't I simply accept and enjoy beauty? What was it that stirred up this terrible discomfort? ...We agreed it was the impermanence, the inability to possess, the reminder of death.

Certain people bring out certain traits in each other. Don't you think? If I had a husband, for example, who said, 'Your typing makes my brain work batter,' I would not be so ashamed of my impulse to work.

It's not here anymore," he said. "What?" "What happened." "Then where is it?" "It's gone. It's over. You can't find it, stroke it, coo over it. Time has stolen it away like it fucking steals everything. In rare instances, like yours, that can be a good thing.

I search for in my work, in these far-flung places, to find a group of people who give each other the room to BE in whatever way they need to be. And maybe I will never find it all in one culture, but maybe I can find parts of it in several cultures, maybe I can piece it together like a mosaic and reveal it to the world. Bu the world is deaf. The world--and I really mean the West--has no interest in change or self improvement...

Her last sentences urged acceptance of cultural relativism and tolerance of differences.

She seemed amused, entirely uninterested in changing him. He knew it was like that at first with anyone. He also knew it might mean that she didn't care about him at all.

conformity created maladjustment and tradition could turn psychopathic. Her last sentences urged acceptance of cultural relativism and tolerance of differences.

Love, he thought. It would come out soon enough. Words and feelings were all churned up together inside him, finding each other like lost parts of an atom. He didn't try to push them apart or away. He let them float in the new fullness in his chest.

We all lose our cammin." "It's so physical. It feels like my body is rejecting me". Pg 275.

Forgiveness means giving up all hope for a better past.

After all, in private, we're all misfits

We live in a world of intolerance masked as tolerance.

Singing is a little bit like the Halloween of emotions. It allows us to put on any costume we want; to become any character we need to express at any given moment; to instantly feel better and to do so in a way that is generally more publicly acceptable.

To attribute meaning to an event or to a lifetime of events is an expression of dissatisfaction with things as they are.

If we don't insist on defining impermanence as unsatisfactory, then it's natural to celebrate. Just a moments pause to consider the passing of the seasons is enough to convince anyone that not only is impermanence the source of all possible joy in this life but its the movement of life itself.

Make No Distinctions

Peace of mind is that mental condition in which you have accepted the worst.

The moment a student gives up his right of personal judgment, he is in for accepting all the humbugs of life

All I ask for the negro is that if you do not like him, let him alone. If God gave him but little, that little let him enjoy.

In this sad world of ours sorrow comes to all, and to the young it comes with bittered agony because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to expect it.

Choose something big that you think it's really not okay to want, something you think would make you seem greedy or selfish if you asked for it. And make sure it's something you really do want. Then ask for it. Whether you get it or not, fight your impulse to apologize or feel bad. Tell yourself it's okay to want what you want. Combat the impulse to scale back out of fear that you're overreaching.

If it's my day to die, then I will die... Death is quick and final. Survival is long and hard.

crying by this time, but so was I, and I wasn't ashamed. Grief had a way of sneaking up on a person. It lay in wait and pounced when your back was turned. Or it clung with sticky fingers twenty-four/seven, giving no reprieve.