1.13.05

that there are no random acts. that we are all connected. that you can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind... it is because the human spirit knows, deep down that all lives intersect. that death doesn't just take someone, it misses someone else, and in the small distance between being taken and missed, lives are changed.

-Mitch Albom. the five people you meet in heaven

1.13.05

that's the thing. sometimes when you sacrifice something precious, you're not losing it. you're just passing it on to someone else.

-mitch albom. the five people you meet in heaven

3.28.03*

One day you'll ask me which is more important - my life or yours. And I'll answer, "my life," and you'll walk away without ever knowing that you are my life

-i don't know who wrote this

1.22.03

Here is how we are different from these wonderful plants and animals. As long as we love each other, and remember the feeling of love we had, we can die without ever really going away. All the love you created is still there. All the memories are still there. You live on - in the hearts of everyone you have touched and nurtured while you were here.

Morrie Schwartz. tuesdays with Morrie.

1.16.03

They seemed to glow from within, like there were lanterns inside their bodies. They looked very old to her, and very young all at once. They looked both invincible and utterly, utterly fragile. Their bodies were the density and weight that anchored her, that made her more real. She looked at them and loved them and was flooded with gratitude.

.......

Caro remembered how it was to lie so unself-consciously next to her best friends. Her aging body recalled the singular comfort of just being in bed next to Vivi's and Teensy's and Necie's bodies. It had been like no comfort she had ever taken from a man, not from her husband, or from the two lovers she'd had during her marriage. As she thought of her friends, she wished they could sprawl like that once more, their old-lady bodies touching, their varicosed legs thrown over one another's, toes touching, their scents mingling. The tribe, together again.

Rebecca Wells. The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

11.18.02

Not eating is a vice, a drug of sorts - with her stomach empty she feels quick and clean, clearheaded and ready for a fight.

-Michael Cunningham, The Hours, p.34

6.01.02

Harry stood up.

"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared.

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore may not have been quite truthful. But then, he thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a personal question.

-J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, The Mirror of Erised.

5.26.02

What the hell? You gotta die of something.

5.15.02

Then she left it all, and ascended even higher to banks of clouds, perfect clouds cool with mist and closer to heaven. She could see the whole little earth, blue and white, spinning around in terrifying magnificent space. No people, only hearts, hearts beating, countless hearts; and the sound of breathing.

This is how it was for Vivi Abbott, age fifteen, labile, in every sense of the word. Such were the places she could travel when a tiny gate opened inside her and her mind went loose-jointed. Such a holy and terrible suppleness is not always safe and never without tradeoffs.

For a moment Vivi stopped feeling solid. And then she began a fast free-fall, which carried a shock of impermanence, a panicky jolt her own temporariness. She clawed to hold on to the moist clouds, to the grand view. She did not want to return to earth.

.....

Vivi completely gave herself over to the water. A black stone that lived inside her chest was temporarily lifted out, and she breathed deeply, and then released her breath like she was blowing out a candle. Her stomach softened, her shoulders released, her dizziness went away. Then she started to cry.

After a few moments, and with no explanation, Teensy's tears joined Vivi's. Then Necie's, and, a few of Caro's. Their tears rolled down their faces and into their communities drinking water. They cried because Jack's enlistment had cracked open their tight universe to the suffering of the world. They cried because in their highly resonant Ya-Ya bones, they knew that they would never be the same again.

Rebecca Wells. The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

5.07.02

"What is Wonderful about Liz

I love you lots and I can always count on you to be happy. Always a good friend. Likes skiing. Graceful skier. Nice, funny, and good hearted. Spanky can always make people laugh. She's not afraid to be herself. Always there for me with the perfect words. Very funny and helpful. Nice, funny and very grateful. She'll make you laugh if you're down. Great laughter, accepting and a good friend. Always cheerful and in a good mood. Really pretty. Really funny. Could be a comedian. The most creative person I know. Artistic and interesting. Very helpful towards others. Always happy. Someone you could count on. Never has a sour word to say. She's awesome."

-My LYF group. I never figured out who said "really pretty". Very good exercise on self-image. I suggest you all do it.

2.19.02

Their hands were tied or handcuffed, yet their fingers danced, flew, drew words. The prisoners were hooded, but leaning back they could see a bit, just a bit, down below. Although it was forbidden to speak, they spoke with their hands. Pinio Ungerfeild taught me the finger alphabet, which he had learned in prison without a teacher:

"Some of us had bad handwriting," he told me. "Others were masters of calligraphy."

The Uruguayan dictatorship wanted everyone to stand alone, everyone to be no one: in prisons and barracks, and throughout the country, communication was a crime.

Some of the prisoners spent more than ten years buried in solitary cells the size of coffins, hearing nothing but clanging bars or footsteps in the corridors. Fernández Huidobro and Mauricio Rosencauf, thus condemned, survived because they could talk to each other by tapping on the wall. In that way they could talk of dreams and memories, fallings in and out of love; they discussed, embraced, fought; they shared beliefs and beauties, doubts and guilts, and those questions that have no answer.

When it is genuine, when it is born of the need to speak, no one can stop the human voice. When denied a mouth, it speaks with the hands or the eyes, or the pores, or anything at all. Because every single one of us has something to say to the others, something that deserves to be celebrated or forgiven by others.

Eduardo Galeano, A Book of Embraces, A Celebration of the Human Voice/2

2.13.02

If I had my life to live over, I'd try to make more mistakes next time. I would relax, I would limber up, I would be crazier than I've been on this trip. I know very few things I'd take seriously anymore. I'd certainly be less hygienic . . . I would take more chances, I would take more trips, I would scale more mountains, I would swim more rivers, and I would watch more sunsets. I would eat more ice-cream and fewer beans. I would have more actual troubles and fewer imaginary ones. Oh, I've had my moments, and if I had to do it all over again, I'd have many more of them, in fact I'd try not to have anything else, just moments, one after another, instead of living so many years ahead of my day. If I had it to do all over again, Id travel lighter, much lighter than I have. I would start barefoot earlier in the spring, and I'd stay that way later in the fall. And I would ride more merry-go-rounds, and catch more gold rings, and greet more people and pick more flowers and dance more often. If I had it to do all over again - but you see, I don't.

-Jorge Luis Borges

2.13.02

To a Beautiful Person

If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it.

If He had a wallet, your photo would be in it.

He sends you flowers every spring. He sends you a sunrise every morning. Whenever you want to talk, He listens. He can live anywhere in the universe, but He chose ... your heart.

Face it, friend - He is crazy about you!

God didn't promise days without pain, laughter without sorrow, sun without rain, but He did promise strength for the day, comfort for the tears, and light for the way.

Karen, I'm sure she didn't write it, but it's still wonderful. It made me cry.

2.7.02

My love, she throws me like a rubber-ball.

U2, The Sweetest Thing

2.7.02

"The problem with defending the purity of the English language is that English is about as pure as a cribhouse whore. We don't just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary."

James D. Nicoll

1.14.02

Lizzie,

I just wanted to send you a little note to say thank you for the mini disc player. I listen to it almost everyday. Here are a few clippings of cool music you may want to check out if you get the chance. I also want you to know that I think of you often, and am proud of you everyday. Be happy. Find love in all that you do. Listen to your self. Smile when you think of me. And more than anything, know that I love you.

Keep your head in the books, and learn as much as you can. You can always call me if you need anything. Speak with you soon. Shaun.

Shaun, A letter to me :)

1.4.02

And she says, "My god it's over" And he says, "I found another fish in the sea"

Five for Fighting, Love Song (very good song!)

1.4.02

I cannot be without you, matter of fact.

Foo Fighters, Walking after You (also, very good song)

12.30.01

Sixto Martino completed his military service at a barracks in Seville.

In the middle of the courtyards that barracks there was a small bench. Next to the small bench, a soldier stood guard. No one knew why the bench had to be guarded. The bench was guarded around the clock, just because: every day, every night, and from one generation of officers to the next the order was passed on and the soldiers obeyed it. No one expressed any doubts or ever asked why. If that's how it was done, and that's how it had always been done, there had to be a reason.

And so it continued until someone, some general or colonel, wanted to look at the original order. He had to rummage through all the files. After a good deal of poking around, he found the answer. Thirty-one years, two months and four days ago, an officer had ordered a guard to be stationed beside the small bench , which had just been painted, so that no one would think of sitting on the wet paint.

Eduardo Galeano, A Book of Embraces, Bureaucracy/3