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A Kind of Hush

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JoDee Neathery

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“Those who sat with him saw his eyes go moist when they spoke about something horrible, or crinkle in delight when they told him a really bad joke. He was always ready to openly display the emotion so often missing from my baby boomer generation. We are great at small talk: 'What do you do?' 'Where do you live?' But really listening to someone -- without trying to sell them something, pick them up, recruit them, or get some kind of status in return -- how often do we get this anymore?”

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Book:Tuesdays With Morrie: An old man, a young man, and life's greatest lesson
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“Rien ne peut t’émouvoir, ô jeunesse ! Tu sembles posséder tous les trésors de la terre ; la tristesse elle-même te fait sourire, la douleur te pare. Tu es sûre de toi-même et, dans ta témérité, tu clames : « Voyez, je suis seule à vivre !... » Mais les jours s’écoulent, innombrables et sans laisser de trace ; la matière dont tu es tissée fond comme cire au soleil, comme de la neige... Et – qui sait ? – il se peut que ton bonheur ne réside pas dans ta toute-puissance, mais dans ta foi. Ta félicité serait de dépenser des énergies qui ne se trouvent point d’autre issue. Chacun de nous se croit très sérieusement prodigue et prétend avoir le droit de dire : « Oh ! que n’aurais-je fait si je n’avais gaspillé mon temps ! »”

RomanceNovelClassic LiteratureRussian Literature
Book:First love
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“It was the beginning of what I thought I had lost. Time—you know that—is diluted death, a poison administered slowly, in harmless doses. At first it stimulates us and even makes us feel immortal—but drop by drop and day by day it grows stronger and destroys our blood. Even if we wanted to buy back our youth at the price of the years that are still ahead of us, we couldn't; the acid of time has changed us, the chemical combination isn't the same any more. It would take a miracle. That miracle happened in Zurich." He stood still, looking down at the sparkling city. "This is the most terrible night in my life," he said slowly. "I want to remember it as the happiest. Shouldn't memory be able to do that? It must. A miracle is never perfect when it happens; there are always little disappointments. But once it's gone for good and nothing can change it, memory could make it perfect, and then it would never change. If I can just call it to life now, won't it always stay the same? Won't it stay with me as long as I live?”

NovelClassics
Book:The Night in Lisbon
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