Quotes About Recovery

Humor is healing.

Clients who have experienced traumatic or painful experiences around money are often unaware of the ways in which their past experiences cloud their future.

We get nose jobs all the time in the NHL, and we don't even have to go to the hospital.

Mike took the stairs two at a time. He felt a small pang in his knee, an old injury from his hockey days. He'd had it operated on a few months ago by his friend, an orthopedic surgeon named David Gold. He told David that he didn't want to give up hockey and asked him if playing had caused the long-term damage. David gave him a prescription for Percocet and replied: "I don't get a lot of ex-chess players here—you tell me." He

She hurt more than herself.

I bet you're confused," Corey said. Dr. Understatement. Maya was stunned. Like a boxer on his heels, she needed time to recover, to take the standing eight count, get her head back into the fight. Explanations for how this could be rose into view, but in every case, she was able to shoot them down with too much ease. Nothing

Well, well." He turned toward the doorway. The nurse, a heavy woman with reading glasses perched upon her huge bosom, strolled in. Her name tag read BERTHA BONDY. She looked down at him and frowned. "Welcome to the free world, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?" It took Mike a second or two to find his voice. "Like I kissed a Mac truck." "Probably be more sanitary than what you were doing. Are you thirsty?" "Parched." Bertha

They stumbled out the door and to the diner down the street. Most of the patrons looked even more hungover than they did. The waitress, a seen-too-much big-hair, brought them an urn of coffee before they even asked. She was on the plump side, just the way Fester liked them. He gave her a smile and said, "Hi, sugar." She

Broome introduced Flynn to Erin. Erin nodded and then put her head back down. Erin had never been good with the families of victims. "They're broken," Erin had told him before. Broome looked now into Flynn's eyes and thought "shattered" was more accurate. "Broken" suggested something clean and all the way through and fixable. But what happened to them was messier, more abstract, filled with shards and no hope of recovery.

The cast on his leg had been enormous and about as comfortable as wearing a jockstrap made of tweed. He hobbled around for months, listening to Sara tease him. "Stop imitating my limp. It's not a very nice thing to do." "Great.

You're okay," Myron said to him, cupping the boy's head. "It's over now." But it wasn't. An

Man," Loren said, "you are good. What other nuggets did you offer? 'Time heals all wounds'?

Recovery comes slowly. But the writing—which keeps me alive because it's all I've got—goes on.

Since ideology, particularly in it's shallower versions, is peculiarly destructive of the capacity to apprehend and appreciate irony, I suggest that the recovery of the ironic might be our fifth principle for the restoration of reading. ... But with this principle, I am close to despair, since you can no more teach someone to be ironic than you can instruct them to become solitary. And yet the loss of irony is the death of reading, and of what had been civilized in our natures.

At our present bad moment, we need above all to recover our sense of literary individuality and of poetic autonomy.

Even in the midst of defeat, carry yourself professionally and maintain your discipline. That is the quickest way towards recovery.

Atticus said that Jem was trying hard to forget something, but what he was really doing was storing it away for a while, until enough time passed. Then he would be able to think about it and sort things out. When he was able to think about it, Jem would be himself again.

Thought you could kill my Snow-on-the-Mountain, did you? Well, Jessie says that the top's growing back out. Next time you'll know how to do it right, won't you? You'll pull it up by the roots, won't you?

Don't worry, though, he'll be as good as new. Boys his age bounce.

A licking hurts but it doesn't last

Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right;

he's freed himself from every stigma, but he sits nursing his hangover of hatred….

When my brother Jem was 13, he had his arm badly broken at the elbow.

She had slept twelve hours, and her shoulders ached from weariness.