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We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and--in spite of True Romance magazines--we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely--at least, not all the time--but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don't see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.
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death
life
love
growing-up
birth
growth
self-respect
lonely
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Hunter S. Thompson |
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On ne nait pas femme: on le devient.
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women
education
gender-realization
birth
upbringing
gender
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Simone de Beauvoir |
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REMEMBER YOUR GREATNES
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existence
giant
living-achievement
loss
struggles
suffering
suzy-kassem
poem
courage
poetry
human
achieve
beauty
confidence
strength
success
life
wisdom
inspirational
winners
born
great
affirmation
eye
loser
egg
sperm
winner
big
attitude
survivor
winning
obstacles
small
competition
odds
greatness
successful
birth
pains
race
warrior
victory
losing
fears
win
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Suzy Kassem |
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Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o'clock at night. It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry, simultaneously.
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heroes
famous-beginnings
coincidence
clocks
birth
midnight
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Charles Dickens |
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I take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
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theatre
shakespeare
names
poetry
inspiration
identity
life
love
inspirational
new-life
birth
resurrection
theater
name
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William Shakespeare |
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Fo' Gawd, Miss Scarlett! We's got ter have a doctah. Ah- Ah- Miss Scarlett, Ah doan know nuthin' 'bout bringin' babies. -Prissy
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bringing
prissy
scarlett
doctors
birth
miss
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Margaret Mitchell |
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We read the pagan sacred books with profit and delight. With myth and fable we are ever charmed, and find a pleasure in the endless repetition of the beautiful, poetic, and absurd. We find, in all these records of the past, philosophies and dreams, and efforts stained with tears, of great and tender souls who tried to pierce the mystery of life and death, to answer the eternal questions of the Whence and Whither, and vainly sought to make, with bits of shattered glass, a mirror that would, in very truth, reflect the face and form of Nature's perfect self. These myths were born of hopes, and fears, and tears, and smiles, and they were touched and colored by all there is of joy and grief between the rosy dawn of birth, and death's sad night. They clothed even the stars with passion, and gave to gods the faults and frailties of the sons of men. In them, the winds and waves were music, and all the lakes, and streams, and springs,--the mountains, woods and perfumed dells were haunted by a thousand fairy forms. They thrilled the veins of Spring with tremulous desire; made tawny Summer's billowed breast the throne and home of love; filled Autumns arms with sun-kissed grapes, and gathered sheaves; and pictured Winter as a weak old king who felt, like Lear upon his withered face, Cordelia's tears. These myths, though false, are beautiful, and have for many ages and in countless ways, enriched the heart and kindled thought. But if the world were taught that all these things are true and all inspired of God, and that eternal punishment will be the lot of him who dares deny or doubt, the sweetest myth of all the Fable World would lose its beauty, and become a scorned and hateful thing to every brave and thoughtful man.
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winter
perfection
shakespeare
true
grief
doubt
passion
nature
joy
fear
past
death
dreams
music
hope
life
love
truth
hateful
philosophies
religion-myths
scorn
sacred-books
brave
tender
fairy
haunted
pagan
king-lear
spring
woods
fable
poetic
mountains
lake
birth
smiles
deny
eternity
autumn
punishment
gods
effort
tears
questions
mystery
beautiful
throne
summer
thought
delight
william-shakespeare
pleasure
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Robert G. Ingersoll |
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Long ago you were a dream in your mother's sleep, and then she awoke to give you birth.
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sleep
motherhood
imminence
inherency
birth
creation
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Kahlil Gibran |
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Attempts to locate oneself within history are as natural, and as absurd, as attempts to locate oneself within astronomy. On the day that I was born, 13 April 1949, nineteen senior Nazi officials were convicted at Nuremberg, including Hitler's former envoy to the Vatican, Baron Ernst von Weizsacker, who was found guilty of planning aggression against Czechoslovakia and committing atrocities against the Jewish people. On the same day, the State of Israel celebrated its first Passover seder and the United Nations, still meeting in those days at Flushing Meadow in Queens, voted to consider the Jewish state's application for membership. In Damascus, eleven newspapers were closed by the regime of General Hosni Zayim. In America, the National Committee on Alcoholism announced an upcoming 'A-Day' under the non-uplifting slogan: 'You can drink--help the alcoholic who can't.' (' '?) The International Court of Justice at The Hague ruled in favor of Britain in the Corfu Channel dispute with Albania. At the UN, Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko denounced the newly formed NATO alliance as a tool for aggression against the USSR. The rising Chinese Communists, under a man then known to Western readership as Mao Tze-Tung, announced a limited willingness to bargain with the still-existing Chinese government in a city then known to the outside world as 'Peiping.' All this was unknown to me as I nuzzled my mother's breast for the first time, and would certainly have happened in just the same way if I had not been born at all, or even conceived. One of the newspaper astrologists for that day addressed those whose birthday it was: Sage counsel no doubt, which I wish I had imbibed with that same maternal lactation, but impartially offered also to the many people born on that day who were also destined to die on it.
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war
history
andrei-gromyko
astrology
birthdays
communist-party-of-china
corfu
corfu-channel-incident
ernst-von-weizsacker
flushing-meadows
flushing-queens
horoscopes
hosni-zayim
international-court-of-justice
mao
nato
nuremberg
the-hague
ussr
czechoslovakia
passover-seder
prohibition
astronomy
breastfeeding
alcohol
nazis
beijing
damascus
united-nations
vatican
united-states
birth
hitler
alcoholism
mars
gods
newspapers
antisemitism
britain
diplomacy
israel
jews
communism
china
censorship
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Christopher Hitchens |
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The baby explodes into an unknown world that is only knowable through some kind of a story - of course that is how we all live, it's the narrative of our lives, but adoption drops you into the story after it has started. It's like reading a book with the first few pages missing. It's like arriving after curtain up. The feeling that something is missing never, ever leaves you - and it can't, and it shouldn't, because something IS missing. That isn't of its nature negative. The missing part, the missing past, can be an opening, not a void. It can be an entry as well as an exit. It is the fossil record, the imprint of another life, and although you can never have that life, your fingers trace the space where it might have been, and your fingers learn a kind of Braille.
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life
opening
narrative
birth
longing-for-death
nostalgia
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Jeanette Winterson |
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Agitation gives birth to creation.
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birth
creation
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Terry Tempest Williams |
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As I have pointed out before, characters are not born like people, of woman; they are born of a situation, a sentence, a metaphor containing in a nutshell a basic human possibility that the author thinks no one else has discovered or said something essential about.
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metaphor
birth
characters
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Milan Kundera |
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"I watched my friend Eleanor give birth," she said. "Once you've seen a child born, you realize a baby's not much more than a reconstituted ham and cheese sandwich. Just a little anagram of you and what you've been eating for nine months."
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humor
benna
babies
birth
baby
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Lorrie Moore |
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Later that summer, as rain fell, such a moment shimmered and paused on the brink, and then began the ancient dance of numbers: two, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-two, and a new life took root and began to grow. And thus the generations past were joined to the unknowable future.
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family
love
birth
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Mary Doria Russell |
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"My funeral," the Blue Man said. "Look at the mourners. Some did not even know me well, yet they came. Why? Did you ever wonder? Why people gather when others die? Why people feel they should? "It is because the human spirit knows, deep down, that all lives intersect. That death doesn't just take someone, it misses someone else, and in the small distance between being taken and being missed, lives are changed. "You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole. "It is why we are drawn to babies . . ." He turned to the mourners. "And to funerals."
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marriage
karma
spirit
death
life
love
connected
cycle
we-are-one
birth
funeral
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Mitch Albom |
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"For that half-hour in the hospital delivery room I was intimate with immensity, for that half-minute before birth I held her hands and for that duration we three were undivided, I felt the blood of her pulse as we gripped hands, felt her blood beat in the rhythm that reached into the baby as she slipped into the doctor's hands, and for a few days we touched that immensity, we saw through her eyes to an immense intimacy, saw through to where she had come from, I felt important being next to her, and the feeling lasted when we entered our car for the drive home, thinking to myself that we weren't to be trusted with our baby, the feeling lasting while I measured us against the landscape, the February rain, the pewter sky, and then the rain freezing to the roadway, the warmth of the interior of the car with its unbreakable transparent sky dome and doors, until the car spun on the ice in the lane and twirled so that I could take an hour to describe how I threw up my hands in anguish as the baby slipped from her arms and whipped into the face of her mother reflected in the glass door, and she caught the baby back into her arms as the car glided to a stop in its usual place at the end of the drive, and nothing but silence and a few drops of blood at a nostril suggested that we would now be intimate with the immensities of death ("Interim")"
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death
birth
baby
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William S. Wilson |
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But the lucidity of her old age allowed her to see, and she said so many times, that the cries of children in their mothers' wombs are not announcements of ventriloquism or a faculty for prophecy but an unmistakable sign of an incapacity for love.
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love
unable-to-love
birth
children
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Gabriel García Márquez |
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When I complain about the bandages she says: 'I promise you that when you take them off you'll be just as you were before.' And it is true. When she takes them off there is not one line, not one wrinkle, not one crease. And five weeks afterwards there I am, with not one line, not one wrinkle, not one crease. And there he is, lying with a ticket tied around his wrist because he died in a hospital. And there I am looking down at him, without one line, without one wrinkle, without one crease...
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motherhood
grief
death
birth
baby
grief-and-loss
mother
hospital
scars
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Jean Rhys |
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"Marian's eyes absolutely blaze. To meet them is to have a shock of contact as if they were electrically charged. "Now you see? You wondered what was in whale's milk. Don't you know now? The same thing that's in a mushroom spore so small you need a microscope to see it, or in gophers, or poison oak, or anything else we try to pave under or grub out, or poison. There isn't good life and bad life, there's only life. Think of the force down there, just telling things to get born!"
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nature
humanity
life
biology
birth
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Wallace Stegner |
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"I forget your name," I said. "Most people spew shit from their arse," he retorted, "you manage it with your mouth." "Your mother gave birth through her arse," I said, "and you still reek of her shit."
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mourth
reek
shit
birth
mother
name
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Bernard Cornwell |
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And there I lie in these damned bandages for a week. And there he lies, swathed up too, like a little mummy. And never crying. But now I like raking him in my arms and looking at him. A lovely forehead, incredibly white, the eyebrows drawn very faintly in gold dust... Well, this was a funny time. (The big bowl of coffee in the morning with a pattern of red and blue flowers. I was always so thirsty.) But uneasy, uneasy... Ought a baby to be as pretty as this, as pale as this, as silent as this? The other babies yell from morning to night. Uneasy... When I complain about the bandages she says: 'I promise you that when you take them off you'll be just as you were before.' And it is true. When she takes them off there is not one line, not one wrinkle, not one crease. And five weeks afterwards there I am, with not one line, not one wrinkle, not one crease. And there he is, lying with a ticket tied around his wrist because he died in a hospital. And there I am looking down at him, without one line, without one wrinkle, without one crease...
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motherhood
grief
death
birth
baby
grief-and-loss
nurse
mother
hospital
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Jean Rhys |
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Mother's milk is soul food for babies. The babies of the world need a lot more soul food.
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life
breastfeeding
birth
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Ina May Gaskin |