Sadness is more or less like a head cold - with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.
Barbara KingsolverRead
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth, but not its twin.
Interpretation
Memory can distort the truth, as it is influenced by personal perceptions and experiences.
This quote by Barbara Kingsolver emphasizes the complex nature of memory in relation to truth. While memory is often seen as a record of events, it is subjective and can be shaped by emotions, beliefs, and context, making it unlike the objective, unwavering essence of truth.
In practice
During a discussion on how personal experiences shape our views, one might reference this quote to illustrate the complexity of memory.
Sadness is more or less like a head cold - with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.
Children can be your heartache. But that doesn't matter, you have to go on and have them . . . it works out.
I'm of a fearsome mind to throw my arms around every living librarian who crosses my path, on behalf of the souls they never knew they saved.
I did it to win love, and to prove myself capable. Not to move mountains. In my opinions, mountains don't move. They only look changed when you look down on them from great height.
Empathy is really the opposite of spiritual meanness. It's the capacity to understand that every war is both won and lost. And that someone else's pain is as meaningful as your own.
It's frightening when things you love appear suddenly changed from what you have always known.
Take notice not only of the mercies of God, but of God in the mercies. Mercies are never so savoury as when they savour a Saviour.
She had what it took: great hair, a profound understanding of strategic lip gloss, the intelligence to understand the world and a tiny secret interior deadness which meant she didnβt care.
When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.
I am so afraid of people's words.They describe so distinctly everything: And this they call dog and that they call house, here the start and there the end. I worry about their mockery with words, they know everything, what will be, what was; no mountain is still miraculous; and their house and yard lead right up to God. I want to warn and object: Let the things be! I enjoy listening to the sound they are making. But you always touch: and they hush and stand still. That's how you kill.
Speech is the mirror of the soul.
There are more fools than knaves in the world, else the knaves would not have enough to live upon.
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