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Quote by Lan Samantha Chang

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Lan Samantha Chang
Lan Samantha Chang

Lan Samantha Chang is an American Chinese writer born in New York in 1965. Her works are known for their profound character portrayal and rich cultural background, with notable titles including 'Beijing Beijing' and 'Shanghai'. more

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“Life isn't perfect. It's not supposed to be. We all make mistakes. You bash your head against the wall and you get hurt, but you walk away and make the best of it. And that's what makes it life, Brenna, not perfection. You'll never find happiness if you only expect to find a perfect life. Happiness is something we reach for while we try to learn from our disappointments.”

IfsTryingHurtWalksPerfectMistakeWallPerfectionDisappointmentSupposed To BeMaking MistakesFinding HappinessLife HappinessWe All Make MistakesPerfect LifeBashMake The Best Of It
Book:Learning to Breathe
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“Spring and Fall: To a Young Child Márgarét, are you gríeving Over Goldengrove unleaving? Leáves, líke the things of man, you With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? Ah! ás the heart grows older It will come to such sights colder By and by, nor spare a sigh Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; And yet you wíll weep and know why. Now no matter, child, the name: Sórrow's spríngs áre the same. Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed What heart heard of, ghost guessed: It ís the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.”

KnowsMenWorldMindHeartChildrenMatterCareYoungLyingFallNamesGrowsBornHeardSpringMouthsSightGhostSparesSighMournYoung ChildrenBlightWhy Now
Book:Delphi Complete Works of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Illustrated)
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“The deeper we grow in the Spirit of Jesus Christ, the poorer we become - the more we realize that everything in life is a gift. The tenor of our lives becomes one of humble and joyful thanksgiving. Awareness of our poverty and ineptitude causes us to rejoice in the gift of being called out of darkness into wondrous light and translated into the kingdom of God's beloved Son.”

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Book:The ragamuffin Gospel
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“... He went under the stars, and the tender light of the moon, when it hung like an eyelash and the tree trunks shone like bones. He walked through wind and weather, and beneath sun-bleached skies. It seemed to Harold that he had been waiting all his life to walk. He no longer knew how far he had come, but only that he was going forward. The pale Cotswold stone became the red brick of Warwickshire, and the land flattened into middle England. Harold reached his hand to his mouth to brush away a fly, and felt a beard growing in thick tufts. Queenie would live. He knew it.”

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Author:Rachel Joyce
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