To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning of the object photographed.
Above all, she is the girl who 'feels' things, who has hung on to the freshness and pain of adolescence, the girl ever wounded, ever young. Now, at an age when the wounds begin to heal whether one wants them to or not, Joan Baez rarely leaves the Carmel Valley.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the enduring emotional depth and sensitivity of a woman who embodies the struggles and resilience of youth.
In this quote, Joan Didion portrays Joan Baez as a woman who remains emotionally connected to her youthful experiences, both joyful and painful. Didion emphasizes the complexity of carrying the scars of adolescence while also indicating a natural healing process that comes with age. Baez's choice to remain in a peaceful place like Carmel Valley suggests a desire for introspection and tranquility as she navigates the transition from the intensity of youth to a calmer existence.
Themes
In practice
Example use cases
This quote fits perfectly in a discussion about the emotional challenges faced during youth.
More from Joan Didion
All quotes →The truth is, it's easier for me to write than talk... to express the state I'm in at any time.
Memories are what you no longer want to remember.
It was clear, for example, in 1988 that the political process had already become perilously remote from the electorate it was meant to represent.
I mean maybe I was holding all the aces, but what was the game?
Do not whine... Do not complain. Work harder. Spend more time alone.
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I don't mind growing old. I'm just not used to it.
People look with sympathetic eyes only at the blossom and the fruit, and disregard the long period of transition during which the one is ripening into the other.
Anne always remembered the silvery, peaceful beauty and fragrant calm of that night. It was the last night before sorrow touched her life; and no life is ever quite the same again when once that cold, sanctifying touch has been laid upon it.
When I hear from people who are struggling to put food on the table, I understand because I've been there.
I've never had a particular skill. I can't cook, dance, play an instrument, speak a foreign language. This used to worry me. I'd think, when I'm grown up, at 18, then I made it 21, it will be clear what role I should have in life. It never happened. I never signed on the dotted line as the sort of adult my father wanted.
Four or five years - nothing at all. But no one over thirty could understand this peculiarly weighted and condensed time, from late teens to early twenties, a stretch of life that needed a name, from school leaver to salaried professional, with a university and affairs and death and choices in between. I had forgotten how recent my childhood was, how long and inescapable it once seemed. How grown up and how unchanged I was.