Only God can write the end of your story.” “God has left me alone,” Dor said. The old man shook his head. “You were never alone.
Learning to pay attention? How important could that be? I now know it is more important than almost everything they taught us in college.
My dad barely moved. He never asked what happened. But to this day, I can still feel his waist in my wet grip, and the comfort it gave me. For many years, that was my peception of fatherhood, a place where a child can find sanctuary. Perhaps this is why I took over the orphanage. Perhaps I’ve grown into my father that way. – Finding Chika.
He kept the outside world at bay by keeping the inside world at hand.
The second wave says, ‘No, you don’t understand. You’re not a wave, you’re part of the ocean.
She says everyone you lose here, you find again there. Our family is all together. Her. My parents.
And slowly a discussion begins as Morrie has wanted all along – about the effect of silence on human relations. My are we embarrassed by silence? What comfort do we find in all the noise?
The truth is, part of me is every age. I’m a three-year-old, I’m a five-year-old, I’m a thirty-seven-year-old, I’m a fifty-year-old. I’ve been through all of them, and I know what it’s like. I delight in being a child when it’s appropriate to be a child. I delight in being a wise old man when it’s appropriate to be a wise old man. Think of all I can be! I am every age, up to my own. Do you understand?” I nodded. “How can I be envious of where you are – when I’ve been there myself?
I was cranked to a fifth gear, and everything I did, I did on a deadline.
It’s like going back to being a child again. Someone to bathe you. Someone to lift you. Someone to wipe you. We all know how to be a child. It’s inside all of us. For me, it’s just remembering how to enjoy it. “The truth is, when our mothers held us, rocked us, stroked our heads – none of us ever got enough of that. We all yearn in some way to return to those days when we were completely taken care of – unconditional love, unconditional attention. Most of us didn’t get enough.
I’d had books published in foreign languages. I’d had many addresses over the years. But you can touch everything and be connected to nothing.
The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough.
I collected the papers, wrapped them back in the rubber band, and felt a small grief, like a person who discovers, upon returning from a trip, that something has been left behind and there is no way now to retrieve it.
I think people expect too much from marriage today,” he said. “They expect perfection. Every moment should be bliss. That’s TV or movies. But that is not the human experience.
But real commitment? That requires staying power – in faith and in marriage.” And if you don’t commit? I asked. “Your choice. But you miss what’s on the other side.” What’s on the other side? “Ah.” He smiled. “A happiness you cannot find alone.
That was what was missing. Every hurt he’d ever suffered, every ache he’d ever endured – it was all as gone as an expired breath. He could not feel agony. He could not feel sadness. His consciousness felt smoky, wisplike, incapable of anything but calm.
There’s a big confusion in this country over what we want versus what we need,” Morrie said. “You need food, you want a chocolate sundae. You have to be honest with yourself. You don’t need the latest sports car, you don’t need the biggest house. “The truth is, you don’t get satisfaction from those things. You know what really gives you satisfaction?” What? “Offering others what you have to give.” You.
Memendam amarah adalah racun. Ia menggerogotimu dari dalam.
Doubt is how you find God.
Kita mengira kebencian adalah senjata untuk melawan orang yang melukai kita, tapi kebencian adalah pisau melengkung.
All caves begin with rain. The rain mixes with gas. The new acidic water eats through rocks, and tiny fractures grow into passageways. Eventually – after many thousands of years – these passageways might create an opening large enough for a man.