She had heard Papa sing so many songs about the heart; the heart that was breaking - was aching - was dancing -was heavy laden - that leaped for joy - that was heavy in sorrow - that turned over - that stood still. She really believed the heart actually did those things.
Interpretation
The heart experiences a range of emotions, as expressed through music and poetry.
In this quote, Betty Smith illustrates the profound connection between music and emotions, particularly how the heart embodies various feelings—joy, sorrow, and everything in between. The reference to Papa singing songs suggests that through storytelling and artistry, we come to understand the complexities of human emotions, and the heart becomes a vessel for those experiences, evoking a belief in its physical manifestation of feelings.
In practice
Sharing this quote during a wedding to celebrate love and emotional connections.
Francie was ten years old when she first found an outlet in writing. What she wrote was of little consequence. What was important was that the attempt to write stories kept her straight on the dividing line between truth and fiction. If she had not found this outlet in writing, she might have grown up to be a tremendous liar.
Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.
Oh, magic hour, when a child first knows she can read printed words.
I know that's what people say-- you'll get over it. I'd say it, too. But I know it's not true. Oh, youll be happy again, never fear. But you won't forget. Every time you fall in love it will be because something in the man reminds you of him.
It was the last time she’d see the river from that window. The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way. Oh, the last time how clearly you see everything; as though a magnifying light had been turned on it. And you grieve because you hadn’t held it tighter when you had it every day.
It doesn't take long to write things of which you know nothing. When you write of actual things, it takes longer, because you have to live them first.
Trust is our gift back to God, and he finds it so enchanting that Jesus died for love of it
One act of pure love in saving life is greater than spending the whole of one's time in religious offerings to the gods . . .
When I can no more stir my soul to move, and life is but the ashes of a fire; when I can but remember that my heart once used to live and love, long and aspire- O, be thou then the first, the one thou art; be thou the calling, before all answering love, and in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire.
Were all the letters sun, I could not see one.
The battle for our hearts is fought on the pages of our calendar.
What I wanted to do was to fasten my index finger and thumb at the bolts of your collar bone, push out, spread the web of my hand until it caught against your throat. You asked me if I wanted to strangle you. No, I wanted to fit you, not just in the obvious ways but in so many indentations.
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