Quotes About Celebration

Strange thing, this hero worship of ours.

Hold summer in your hand, pour summer in a glass, a tiny glass of course, the smallest tingling sip, for children; change the season in your veins by raising glass to lip and tilting summer in.

Hold the dark holiday in your palms, Bite it, swallow it and survive, Come out the far black tunnel of el Día de Muerte And be glad, ah so glad you are… alive! Calavera…Calavera…

So the carnival steams by, shakes ANY tree: it rains jackasses.

I was only kicking down the Christmas tree to get the star on top.

Writing is not a serious business. It's a joy and a celebration. You should be having fun with it. Ignore the authors who say 'Oh, my God, what word? Oh, Jesus Christ…', you know. Now, to hell with that. It's not work. If it's work, stop and do something else.

She looked at the skull and laughed. Death is a good thing in Mexico; it is a thing to talk of at dinner, at breakfast, with or without a drink, with or without a smile. (The Candy Skull)

My favorite tune was "'Tain't No Sin, To Take Off Your Skin, and Dance Around in Your Bones.

Accordion, harmonica, wine, shout, dance, wail, roundabout, clash of pan, laughter.

Well, when I think of thirty-five years of your life . . . Mrs. Goodwater pursed her lips and blinked her eyes, counting. That's about twelve thousand seven hundred and seventy-five days, or counting three of them per day, twelve thousand-odd commotions, twelve thousand much-ados and twelve thousand calamaties. It's a full rich life you lead, Elmira Brown. Shake hands! Get away! Elmira fended her off.

One lives too long. Happy X-mas.

The food was elegant and expensive, and the aisles were overflowing with great streams of flushed and merry proprietors, all stout and balding.

Always make it a special point to rejoice in the wealth of another person.

A whole roasted lamb—stuffed with lamb sausages, organ and glandbreads, dried fruits and currants, tomato/garlic/onion mush, the entirety cardamomated, corianderized, cumined, cloved—was brought out on a spit, danced around. The carcassbearers were women, further gorgeous bursting Slavs

I really like beer.

All for that welcome home dance, The most favorite of all-- when everyone finds their way back together to dance, eat and celebrate. And tell story after story of how they fought and played in the story wheel and how no one was ever really lost at all.

All cultures and peoples turn to poetry during times of celebration, transformation and challenge—those times when ordinary language cannot carry meaning beyond our understanding.

I leave you to your ceremony of grieving Which is also of celebration Given when an honored humble one Leaves behind a trail of happiness In the dark of human tribulation. None of us is above the other In this story of forever.

Mother's bread crumb stuffing was particularly delicious this year, made with apples, prunes, chestnuts, thyme, tarragon, fine-cut onions and celery. In the lush salad of many gourmet greens were tiny sections of clementines, dried cranberries, chopped escarole, cherry tomatoes from Mexico. The mashed sweet potatoes were (secretly) laced with marshmallow—one of Mother's prized family recipes.

Boxing is for men, and is about men, and is men. A celebration of the lost religion of masculinity all the more trenchant for its being lost.

It's a great thing when a man knows how to dance, she said. When a man can dance, the world is his oyster. Adele, Henry's Mother

There is something you can do that no one else can do just like you so love your life!

Your presence is a present to the world. You are unique and one of a kind. Do not ever forget, for even a day… how very special you are!

Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, you [uncompromisingly] righteous [you who are upright and in right standing with Him]; shout for joy, all you upright in heart! Psalm 32:11