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Quote by Temple Grandin

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Thinking in Pictures, Expanded Edition: My Life with Autism

Temple Grandin, an individual with autism, shares her personal journey and insights into the autism spectrum. This book delves into her unique way of thinking, which she describes as 'thinking in pictures,' and how it has influenced her life and work. The expanded edition includes new material that further expands on her experiences and reflections on autism. Grandin provides a candid look at the challenges and triumphs of living with autism, offering a valuable perspective for both those on the spectrum and those who seek to understand it. more

Author

Temple Grandin
Temple Grandin

Temple Grandin is a professor of animal science and an autism advocate. Born on August 29, 1947, she has made significant contributions to the understanding of autism and animal welfare through her groundbreaking research. Grandin's innovative designs, such as the 'hug box,' have improved livestock handling practices. She is also an author and speaker, sharing her experiences and insights on autism and animal welfare with the world. more

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“He was looking at me, jsut as I'd thought he would be, but like Bert's, his light was not what I expected. No pity, no sadness: nothing had changed. I realized all the times I'd felt people stare at me, their faces had been pictures, abstracts. None of them were mirrors, able to reflect back the expression I thought one I wore, the feelings only I felt.”

“What makes the voice pathetic is that it doesn't know what kind of people it's reaching. Us. No one hears it, except us. This Age wanted heroes. It got us instead: carefully constructed, but immobile. Subtle but, unfit to take up the burden of the times. It happens. A whole generation of washouts. History says stand up, and we totter and collapse, weeping, moved, but not sufficient.”

“I wondered why it had to be so poisonous. Oleanders could live through anything, they could stand heat, drought, neglect, and put out thousands of waxy blooms. So what did they need poison for? Couldn't they just be bitter? They weren't like rattlesnakes, they didn't even eat what they killed. The way she boiled it down, distilled it, like her hatred. Maybe it was a poison in the soil, something about L.A., the hatred, the callousness, something we didn't want to think about, that the plant concentrated in its tissues. Maybe it wasn't a source of poison, but just another victim.”