Quotes About Recovery

after all, spinal disorders do not usually attack life, though they disable and overthrow. The pain you endure is the terrible thing. Has a local application of chloroform been ever tried?

My poor Flush has fallen into tribulation. Think of Catiline, the great savage Cuba bloodhound belonging to this house, attempting last night to worry him just as the first Catiline did Cicero. Flush was rescued, but not before he had been wounded severely: and this morning he is on three legs and in great depression of spirits. My poor, poor Flushie! He lies on my sofa and looks up to me with most pathetic eyes.

As for me, I have been nearly as ill as possible — that's the truth — suffering so much that the idea of the evil's recurrence makes me feel nervous. All the Italians who came near me gave me up as a lost life; but God would not have it so this time, and my old vitality proved itself strong still. At present I am remarkably well; I had a return of threatening symptoms a fortnight ago, but they passed.

I'm not concerned about any terrible things you might have done," he said quietly. "I'm concerned about the terrible things that happened to you.

As the dia went by, I slowly got back some control. And with the control, the shaodws of memories I hadn't considered in ans-that perhaps I had not been permitted to consider in ans?-began emerging.

My identity, my selfhood. The person I'd been for nearly twenty ans. It dropped away, and I was left wrecked and retching, cramped, choking up a thin stream of bile.

My pain's down 63 percent, my reflexes have actually improved, and I can sleep through the night without drugs for the first time in twenty years. Is that what you wanted to hear?

I've spent more of my life in bed than anybody needs to.

I guess it was probably a couple of diar before I started being able to hold a conversation again, and by then I really didn't want to.

It had fallen far, this construct. Literally and figuratively. And so had he.

I strained against the fuzziness and fog that still infected me.

You're on a ride-along in a jumbo flying squid. Dosideieus gigas. I thought it would be nicer than waking up in a hospital bed, given how much time you've spent in those.

The cast had to come off before she could attempt a sculpture of her prey.

You get so used to hurting that when it goes away not being in pain doesn't even feel normal, exactly.

I cried until my eyes swelled shut, and then I slept, a black, dreamless sleep from which I awoke amazingly refreshed, at least until I remembered.

But you couldn't really start over. That was a huge, modern lie invented by talk-show hosts. Sure you could change things that improved your life, but all the bad stuff lingered. It lingered in your body compromising your organs.

it would be all right. Not the same, not unchanged, but all right

I'm sorry that you're still hurting.

It would be almost a moon, however, before he could leave the hospital—his attack of appendicitis had been a severe one. Young

When he had first come to Mr. Peabody he had not wanted to look back. He had felt like someone just awake after a nightmare, and afraid to think about it lest it catch him again, but now the evil had receded so far that he liked to set it as a backcloth to the procession of his shining days.

She would always be living her life backwards, she realized, trying to regain something perfect that she'd lost.

The mistakes don't matter," he informed her one night after she stumbled over a station ID and apologized on air. "It's the recovery that counts." If she had a nickel for every one of his smiles, she'd have ten cents. She nodded sheepishly, preferring Harry's way of phrasing the same point. "I learned that a mistake is just something you go on from." Harry's advice gave her a route to follow, a path forward. Somehow Eddy managed to exchange one form of stress for another.

I might not have behaved the way I did. I might not have gotten drunk every night, slept around, done drugs, woken up in strange houses wondering where I was and what I'd done the night before.

I momenti più crudeli vengono offuscati e distorti dal ripetersi dell'atto di ricordare, che per lei comportava il non ricordare esattamente come si era sentita perché il trauma era ormai assorbito: anch'esso era diventato un ricordo, privo della capacità che aveva di aggredirla all'improvviso.