There's life for you. Spend the best years of your life studying penmanship and rhetoric and syntax and Beowulf and George Eliot, and then somebody steals your pencil.
Dorothy ParkerRead
This living, this living, this living Was never a project of mine.
Interpretation
Life is unpredictable and often not what we plan for.
Dorothy Parker's quote reflects on the often unplanned and chaotic nature of life. It suggests that despite our aspirations and projects, the essence of living may not align with what we consciously set out to achieve, highlighting the spontaneity of human experience and existence.
In practice
In a speech about embracing life's unexpected turns, I illustrated with Parker's quote.
There's life for you. Spend the best years of your life studying penmanship and rhetoric and syntax and Beowulf and George Eliot, and then somebody steals your pencil.
My land is bare of chattering folk; / the clouds are low along the ridges, / and sweet's the air with curly smoke / from all my burning bridges.
Prince or commoner, tenor or bass, Painter or plumber or never-do-well, Do me a favor and shut your face - Poets alone should kiss and tell.
They say of me, and so they should, It's doubtful if I come to good. I see acquaintances and friends Accumulating dividends And making enviable names In science, art and parlor games. But I, despite expert advice, Keep doing things I think are nice, And though to good I never come Inseparable my nose and thumb.
It is that word 'hunny,' my darlings, that marks the first place in The House at Pooh Corner at which Tonstant Weader fwowed up.
I canβt write five words but that I change seven.
There are no conditions to which a man cannot get accustomed, especially if he sees that everyone around him lives in the same way.
There may be more poetry than justice in poetic justice.
There's a difference between making incremental improvements and making sweeping changes that take you away from your core values.
War don't ennoble men, it turns 'em into dogs. It poisons the soul.
Death is not a blotting-out of existence, a final escape from life; nor is death the door to immortality. He who has fled his Self in earthly joys will not recapture It amidst the gossamer charms of an astral world. There he merely accumulates finer perceptions and more sensitive responses to the beautiful and the good, which are one. It is on the anvil of this gross earth that struggling man must hammer out the imperishable gold of spiritual identity.
Observation is so wide awake, and facts are being so rapidly added to the sum of human experience, that it appears as if the theorizer would always be in arrears, and were doomed forever to arrive at imperfect conclusion; but the power to perceive a law is equally rare in all ages of the world, and depends but little on the number of facts observed.
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