Archives for posts with tag: quotes

I don’t know why, but I’m just not in a picture mood this week.  I took a break from the week in photos last week, and now I can’t find my point and shoot, so I guess this week will be another week off, too.

In other news, this is my first year participating fully in Great Lent, as I was chrismated and baptized into the Eastern Orthodox Church last Easter (which comes right after Lent.)  On a surface level, what this means is that I’m going to be on a vegan diet until Pascha (Easter).  But obviously it means a lot more than just that.  What, exactly does it mean then?  Well, that’s something I’m still in the process of understanding and figuring out.  So hopefully more on that later…

For now, I end with a quote I read tonight by a Catholic saint that I found really challenging:

“Love for our neighbor consists of three things: to desire the greater good of everyone; to do what good we can when we can; to bear, excuse, and hide other’s faults.” –St. John Vianney

That last one is the one that really struck me.  I can’t even count how many times I bitched about and exposed people’s faults this week.  From my professors, to my boss, to my own family members.  😦  I hardly realized it was wrong at the time, but after reading this quote, I realize how unloving it really was.

I’m going to really try and work on this one for a while.

How about you?  In what ways have you been challenged to be more loving lately?


I cannot tell you how much I connected with this book by Jonathan Safran Foer. Reading it was like meeting someone for the first time who can magically tell you your entire life story and understand the deepest parts of you.

There were so many good quotes from it, that as I read it, I wrote them down on index cards.  (Haha, nerdy, I know.)  I actually found the cards the other day as I was going through my stuff, so I took pictures of some of them so I could share them with you. Hope you like them as much as I did!

Hmm, I just realized that they’re all semi-depressing.  Sorry about that.  Well, then, I will end with one of my favorite scenes from the book, which was actually a very happy scene.  Enjoy!

“Georgia Black, in Staten Island, had turned her living room into a museum of her husband’s life.  She had pictures of him from when he was a kid, and his first pair of shoes, and his old report cards, which weren’t as good as mine, but anyway.  “Y’all’re the first visitors in more than a year,” she said, and she showed us a neat gold medal in a velvet box.  “He was a naval officer, and I loved being a naval wife.  Every few years we’d have to travel to some exotic place.  I never did get a chance to put down many roots, but it was thrilling.  We spent two years in the Philippines.”  “Cool,” I said, and Mr. Black started singing a song in some weird language, which I guess was Philippinish.  She showed us her wedding album, one picture at a time, and said, “Wasn’t I slim and beautiful?”  I told her, “You were.”  Mr. Black said, “And you are.”  She said, “Aren’t you two the sweetest?”  I said, “Yeah.”

“This is the three-wood that he hit his hole in one with.  He was real proud of that.  For weeks it was all I’d hear about.  “Thats’ the airplane ticket from our trip to Maui, Hawaii.  I’m not too vain to tell you it was our thirtieth anniversary.  Thirty years.  We were going to renew our vows.  Just like in a romance novel.  His carry-on bag was filled with flowers, bless his heart.  He wanted to surprise me with them on the plane, but I was looking at the x-ray screen as his bag went through, and don’t you know there was a dark black bouquet.  It was like the shadows of flowers.  What a lucky girl I am.”  She used a cloth to wipe away our fingerprints…

“This is an evaluation from his commanding officer,” Georgia said, tapping the case.  “It’s exemplary.  This is the tie he wore to his mother’s funeral, may she rest in peace.  She was such a nice woman.  Nicer than most.  And this here is a picture of his childhood home.  That was before I knew him, of course.”  She tapped every case and then wiped away her own fingerprints, kind of like a Mobius strip.  “These are his varsity letters.  This is his cigarette case from when he used to smoke.  Here’s his Purple Heart.”

I started to get heavy boots, for obvious reasons, like where were all of her things?  Where were her shoes and her diploma?  Where were the shadows of her flowers?  I made a decision that I wouldn’t ask about the key, because I wanted her to believe that we had come to see her museum, and I think Mr. Black had the same idea.  I decided to myself that if we went through the whole list and still hadn’t found anything, then maybe, if we had no choice, we could come back and ask her some questions.  “These are his baby shoes.”

But then I had started to wonder: she said we were the first visitors in a little more than a year.  Dad had died a little more than a year ago. Was he the visitor before us?
“Hello, everyone,” a man said from the door.  He was holding two mugs, which steam was coming out of, and his hair was wet.  “Oh, you’re awake!”  Georgia said, taking the mug that said “Georgia” on it.  She gave him a big kiss, and I was like, What in the what the?  “Here he is,” she said.  “Here who is?”  Mr. Black asked.  “My husband,” she said, almost like he was another exhibit in his life.  The four of us stood smiling at one another, and then the man said, “Well, I suppose you’d like to see my museum now.”  I told him, “We just did.  It was really great.”  He said, “No, Oskar, that’s her museum.  Mine’s in the other room.”

Doesn’t that make you so happy???  That’s the kind of marriage I’d like to have someday.  That is, if I ever get married…

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