Quotes About Reflection

Every life lived fully is going to have some regrets, because every risk is not worth taking, but you don't always see that in time. Or if you do, you convince yourself that you'll be the one to beat the odds.

what is happiness, Nathan? In my experience, it's only a moment's pause here and there on what is otherwise a long and difficult road. No one can be happy all the time. Better, I think, to wish for her wisdom, a virtue not so fickle.

down. He realized he hadn't taken a single sip.

Everything that's been done to us we carry forever. Most of us do our damnedest to hold on to the good and forget the rest. But somewhere in the vault of our hearts, in a place our brains can't or won't touch, the worst is stored, and the only sure key to it is in our dreams. Wake

Everything that's been done to us we carry forever. Most of us do our damnedest to hold on to the good and forget the rest. But somewhere in the vault of our hearts, in a place our brains can't or won't touch, the worst is stored, and the only sure key to it is in our dreams.

And what is happiness, Nathan? In my experience, it's only a moment's pause here and there on what is otherwise a long and difficult road.

I lay on the straw matting, thinking about how much I'd hated Albert when I believed that he'd toadied out on us. And I thought about how much I loved him right at that moment, though I would never have told him so.

And what is happiness, Nathan? In my experience, it's only a moment's pause here and there on what is otherwise a long and difficult road. No one can be happy all the time. Better, I think, to wish for her wisdom, a virtue not so fickle." "Nf-six," my

What we use to construct the past is...a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses...a construct of what stands in the light and what I imagine in the dark where I cannot see.

although the rain would miss us I could see quite well the silver bolts of lightning forged on the anvil of the great thunderhead. I slipped downstairs and out the front door and sat on the porch steps. A wind cooler than anything I'd felt in days breathed into my face and I watched the storm as I might have watched the approach and passing of a fierce and beautiful animal.

A wise man. He told me once every falling leaf comes to rest where it was always meant to.

He was thinking about what his father had said, how the quiet of the morning was something he had almost entirely to himself, something he would come to appreciate. It was true. On the streets of Aurora in that early hour, he was almost always alone. Sometimes lights were on in a room, usually a kitchen, or on rare occasions, a car might drift past, but he and Jackson owned the sidewalks and the morning was his.

If you throw yourself onto the fire of guilt, it will be a useless sacrifice. We do not know, any of us, the Great Mystery's purpose in this. But purpose there is.

It seems to me that when you look back at a life - yours or another's - what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow. So much is lost. What we use to construct the past is what has remained in the open, a hodgepodge of fleeting glimpses. Our histories, like my father's current body, are structures built of toothpicks. So what I recall of that last summer in New Bremen is a construct of both what stands in the light and what I imagine in the dark where I cannot see.

she couldn't help wondering what became of human beings who lived too long without beauty.

FROM THE HEIGHT of a certain wisdom acquired across many decades, I look down now on those four children traveling a meandering river whose end was unknown to them.

Death is no surprise to an old man like me. Being able to take a regular crap, now, there is a surprise.

I've learned across the whole of my life is that it's only when I yield to the river and embrace the journey that I find peace.

I understood that the past is never really past. We live out history over and over, the worst of our memories right there alongside us, step for step, our companions to the grave.

It seems to me that when you look back at a life, yours or another's, what you see is a path that weaves into and out of deep shadow.

As I walked away he called to me and when I turned back he said, "They're never far from us, you know." "Who?" I asked. "The dead. No more'n a breath. You let that last one go and you're with them again.

William Kent Krueger

one of the things a healer knows is that human beings already have within them an understanding of how to heal themselves. Often, all a Mide did was help guide them to this understanding. A sweat was like that, Stephen decided, and he wondered, So what do I already know that I need to understand?

I try not to want. I try instead to accept.