Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed--sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.
Jodi PicoultRead
The person may have a scar, but it also means they have a story
Interpretation
Scars represent past experiences and the personal stories behind them.
This quote highlights the idea that scars, whether physical or emotional, are not just marks of pain or injury but also symbols of resilience and enduring stories. Each scar signifies a journey filled with experiences that shape who we are, illustrating that our struggles contribute to our identity and narrative.
In practice
In a motivational speech about overcoming challenges.
Normal, in our house, is like a blanket too short for a bed--sometimes it covers you just fine, and other times it leaves you cold and shaking; and worst of all, you never know which of the two it's going to be.
Whether it was power they sought, or revenge, or love-well, those were all just different forms of hunger. The bigger the hole inside you, the more desperate you became to fill it.
she told me she'd be a phoenix." The image of the mythical creature rising from the ashes glitters in my mind. "They don't really exist." "She said that depends on whether or not there's someone who can see them.
for 100,000 (dollars), you [can] flatten a house with a wrecking ball. Imagine how much less it [takes] to destroy something than it [does] to build it in the first place.
But if you seek forgiveness, doesn't that automatically mean you cannot be a monster? By definition, doesn't that desperation make you human again?
when you [lose someone], it feels like the hole in your gum when a tooth falls out. You can chew, you can eat, you have plenty of other teeth, but your tongue keeps going back to that empty place, where all nerves are still a little raw
Everything you cherish_x000D_ _x000D_ Throws you over in the end_x000D_ _x000D_ Thorns will grab your ankles_x000D_ _x000D_ From the gardens that you tend.
I can no more think of my own life without thinking of wine and wines and where they grew for me and why I drank them when I did and why I picked the grapes and where I opened the oldest procurable bottles, and all that, than I can remember living before I breathed.
Our being is subject to all the chances of life. There are so many things we are capable of, that we could be or do. The potentialities are so great that we never, any of us, are more than one-fourth fulfilled.
Itβs just that I feel so sad these wonderful nights. I sort of feel theyβre never coming again, and Iβm not really getting all I could out of them.
[...]It is as if after surviving so much, there was no longer reason to survive.
This was life! Ah, how he loved it! Civilization held nothing like this in its narrow and circumscribed sphere, hemmed in by restrictions and conventionalities. Even clothes were a hindrance and a nuisance. At last he was free. He had not realized what a prisoner he had been.
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