Quotes About Acceptance

Was there someone there, waiting, who would receive the tiny released twin? Would it grow up Elsewhere, not knowing, ever, that in this community lived a being who looked exactly the same? For a moment, he felt a tiny, fluttering hope that he knew was quite foolish. He hoped that it would be Larissa, waiting. Larissa, the old woman he had bathed. He remembered her sparkling eyes, her soft voice, her low chuckle. Fiona had told him recently that Larissa had been released at a wonderful ceremony.

They spoke of the history of Village, how each of them there had fled poverty and cruelty and been welcomed at this new place that had taken them in.

For Kirsti, the soldiers were simply part of the landscape, something that had always been there, on every corner, as unimportant as lampposts, throughout her remembered life

But here in Village, marks and failings were not considered flaws at all. They were valued.

Your father calls you to his court. You need not pack. You go garbed in glorious raiment. He waits eagerly by his palace doors to welcome you, and has prepared a place at the high table, by his side, in the company of the great-souled, honored, and best-beloved.

So you're saying that I could die at any moment!" "Yes. And this is different from your life yesterday in what way?

He's not too short. He's just... concentrated.

I miss it every minute, and I have no wish at all to go back.

I am not schizoid. A little manic-depressive, maybe. 'Know thyself.' We try, sir.

It's just a thing. You deal with it. As in, one damn thing after another? Yes, very like.

I can love you. I can grieve for you, or with you. I can share your pain. But I cannot judge you.

It wasn't a case of storming heaven. It was a case of letting heaven storm you.

For a while, I thought I was going mad. At last, I became reconciled to my despair. The medications helped, too, I thought, sir.

Don't be afraid," she said. "The dead cannot hurt you. They give you no pain, except that of seeing your own death in their faces. And one can face that, I find." Yes, he thought, the good face pain. But the great—they embrace it.

Some attitudes couldn't be changed, they just had to be outlived

She took the story in like some strange, spiked gift, too fragile to drop, too painful to hold.

Another day will put some other plate on your table, more to your taste, but do not waste the food in front of you.

We cannot protect anyone from being alive, Master Bosha. No matter how much we might wish to.

The gods...the gods may forgive much, to a truly penitent heart. Her smile grew bitter as desert brine. The gods may forgive Ista all day long. But if Ista does not forgive Ista, the gods may go hang themselves.

Death is not a performance to rate ourselves upon, or berate ourselves upon either.

Do not deny the gods. And they will not deny you." As Oswyl stared at him, he went on, "Dangerous habit, mind you. Once you start to let Them in through that first crack, They're worse than mice.

I wanted—I wanted to serve something. To"—he raised his eyes to his father's, driven to a painful honesty—"to make my life an offering fit to lay at his feet." He shrugged. "Screwed up again." "Clay, boy." Count Vorkosigan's voice was hoarse but clear. "Only clay. Not fit to receive so golden a sacrifice." His voice cracked.

I'm frightened all the time, yet I can't wish myself elsewhere.

But she was my project—I must answer for her— No. She's a free woman now. She must answer for herself. How free can she ever be, in that body, driven by that metabolism, that face—a freak's life—better to die painlessly, than to have all that suffering inflicted on her— Miles spoke through his teeth. With emphasis. No. It's. Not. Canaba stared at him, shaken out of the rutted circle of his unhappy reasoning at last.