Sadness is more or less like a head cold - with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.
Barbara KingsolverRead
The death of something living is the price of our own survival, and we pay it again and again. We have no choice. It is the one solemn promise every life on earth is born and bound to keep.
Interpretation
Life often entails sacrifices, and the survival of one being may depend on the death of another.
This quote reflects the inherent cycle of life and death, emphasizing that survival often comes at a cost, specifically the loss of other living beings. It suggests that all life on Earth is interconnected in this cycle, where the inevitable taking of life is a fundamental, and unavoidable aspect of existence.
In practice
This quote can be used in a discussion about environmental ethics, highlighting the balance of ecosystems.
Sadness is more or less like a head cold - with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.
Children can be your heartache. But that doesn't matter, you have to go on and have them . . . it works out.
I'm of a fearsome mind to throw my arms around every living librarian who crosses my path, on behalf of the souls they never knew they saved.
I did it to win love, and to prove myself capable. Not to move mountains. In my opinions, mountains don't move. They only look changed when you look down on them from great height.
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
Empathy is really the opposite of spiritual meanness. It's the capacity to understand that every war is both won and lost. And that someone else's pain is as meaningful as your own.
As I unclutter my life, I free myself to answer the callings of my soul.
It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people had chocolate; I had dying declarations.
The result of my life is no more than three words: I was raw, I became cooked, I was burnt.
There is nothing more enticing, disenchanting, and enslaving than the life at sea.
I leave this life with no regrets. It was a wonderful life - full and complete with the great loves and great endeavors that make it worth living.
My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I shall never be, looking-glasses I look nice in, looking-glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.
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