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Quote by Rebecca Solnit

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The Mother of All Questions

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Rebecca Solnit
Rebecca Solnit

Rebecca Solnit is an American writer known for her works on environmental, cultural, political, and social issues. Her writing spans a wide range of topics, including nature, travel, gender, and power. Her books include 'Wanderlust', 'A Field Guide to Getting Lost', and 'The Faraway Nearby'. more

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“Until that moment, I had assumed my job--my role in the crisis--was to absorb the grief, anger, and pain building up and spilling out around Tammy and our kids. Absorb their grief so they wouldn't feel the full brunt. My job. But that night, I expressed my sorrow rather than trying to deflect or divert the hard hit Tammy had also taken. Judging from her response, it appeared more meaningful to her than the strength I'd been trying to portray.”

“I think that the most valuable thing you can learn about men, is that they are boys who grew bigger and tend to make lots of mistakes. Really. And they're usually, most of the time, deep down inside, just terrified of disappointing you. And then they make more mistakes in an attempt to cover their terror of being a disappointment. Men are extremely flawed, just like every other human being, and knowing this is power, knowing this sets you free from the cage of expectation and disappointment that we as women seem to be fashioned into since we were little. And I'm not talking about cheating. Cheating is simply not acceptable. But I'm talking about all the other ways that men disappoint; we all know it's very many. But they're just boys, they're merely people, and you only need to find a person that you really, really like.”

“I knocked—not the cop knock that says, “Let me in right now, you piece of shit,” but the polite human being knock that most cops reserve for victims’ families. That’s my typical knock anyway, since I’ve always hated calling attention to myself. I wondered briefly if my knock wasn’t manly enough for Zig, but then I thought, fuck it. I was already pretending to be macho by doing the driving. I didn’t need to batter down the door.”

“Anne, look here. Can’t we be good friends?” For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert’s hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her “carrots” and had brought about her disdain before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!”