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Quote by Anna Quindlen

“The thing about old friends is not that they love you, but that they know you. They remember that disastrous New Year's Eve when you mixed White Russians and champagne, and how you wore that red maternity dress until everyone was sick of seeing the blaze of it in the office, and the uncomfortable couch in your first apartment and the smoky stove in your beach rental. They look at you and don't really think you look older because they've grown old along with you, and, like the faded paint in a beloved room, they're used to the look. And then one of them is gone, and you've lost a chunk of yourself. The stories of the terrorist attacks of 2001, the tsunami, the Japanese earthquake always used numbers, the deaths of thousands a measure of how great the disaster. Catastrophe is numerical. Loss is singular, one beloved at a time.”

Quote by Anna Quindlen

Work

Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake

This book is a compilation of personal essays and musings that explore themes of joy, fulfillment, and the art of living well. The author shares insights on love, relationships, and the quest for a meaningful life, offering readers a mix of humor and wisdom. more

Author

Anna Quindlen
Anna Quindlen

Anna Quindlen, born on July 8, 1952, is a renowned American author known for her insightful social commentary and delicate portrayal of everyday life. Her writing career began as a newspaper editor, later transitioning to novel writing, which has been well-received by readers. more

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“WHEN PARENTS GROW OLD. Let them grow old with the same love that they let you grow ... let them speak and tell repeated stories with the same patience and interest that they heard yours as a child ... let them overcome, like so many times when they let you win ... let them enjoy their friends just as they let you … let them enjoy the talks with their grandchildren, because they see you in them ... let them enjoy living among the objects that have accompanied them for a long time, because they suffer when they feel that you tear pieces of this life away ... let them be wrong, like so many times you have been wrong and they didn’t embarrass you by correcting you ... LET THEM LIVE and try to make them happy the last stretch of the path they have left to go; give them your hand, just like they gave you their hand when you started your path!”

“There weren't enough rosary beads in the world, nor numbers to count backward, when you left my room at night. It may be dangerous to be unfathered, exposed on the animal plain, but life unmothered is simply unlivable. I mean, why go on? I held a little funeral every time you left the room. I tried to smother myself with my pillow. I replayed home movies of our lost lives in my head. Then, eventually, I'd start to worry a scab or to scratch my dry legs or count my teeth with my tongue, taking some clinical half interest in my body, waiting for the night to pass. I withstood this agony for at least ten minutes before slipping out of bed to put my eye to the crack in the door. Because the wonderful thing about my bedroom was that it looked out on you.”

“I met this boy here who I knew as a kid and his mum left him with a pedophile for two weeks when he was eight years old and I'm presuming you know everything there is to know about Jonah's father, and that my father is dead, and my mother hasn't been around for years, and God knows Jessa's real story. So what I'm saying here, Sergeant, is that we're just a tad low on the reliable adult quota so you have no right to be all self-righteous about what Chaz did and if you're going to go around not talking to him when his only crime was wanting me to have what he has, then I think you're going to turn out to be a bit of a dud and you know something? I'm just a bit over life's little disappointments right now. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Why do you think, A.J.," they say in unison, "that you find these boys so attractive?" I didn't say that this fiery chemical explosion leaps from somewhere inside me. Parents don't want to hear these things. I shrugged and said nothing. "Maybe you should try sitting on the intensity," Mom suggests, "just until your feelings catch up with reality." "We could chain you to the water heater," Dad offers, "until these little moments pass." You see what I'm up against.”