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Quote by Kevin Voigt

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Raiders: Friends in Low Places

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Kevin Voigt

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“I’d never felt before like maybe we'd outgrown each other. Like maybe Mike was someone I wouldn't have liked today if I hadn't known him as long as I had. I kept hanging on to who Mike was for me in a previous life, ignoring who he was now, and I was tired of trying to cling to that. We're fed the narrative that you never give up on the ones you love. And I did love Mike. But it wasn't my job to hold him up while he decided if he wanted to stand or not. To scream at him to change until I lost my voice. I felt done.”

Friendship
Book:The Night We Met
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“From Sashé Boudreaux: It’s said a Cajun woman only needs three things in life, ’cause everything else worth havin’ flows right outta them: a solid foundation (and I don’t mean makeup), a faithful man, and a good étouffée. Mostly I agree… but they left out the beignets. Truth is, life’s a recipe—stir slow, season well, and always set an extra place at the table. You never know who might come along needing a kind ear, a soft place to land, and something warm in their belly.”

HumorFriendshipSmall TownLouisianaCozy MysteryBeignetsSouthern MysterySouthern CharmCajun CultureBayou Life
Book:Sashé Boudreaux: Beignets, Bones, and Buried Secrets
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“If I were to choose one quality above all others to guide a man into, so that he might become a good king, it would be friendship with God. For if he has this, it will compensate for whatever other deficiencies the man may have, and if he does not have this, no matter how gifted he might be, he will not become the king he could have been.”

FriendshipChristian Living
Book:Fathered by God: Learning What Your Dad Could Never Teach You (Embark on the Path to Authentic Manhood and Discover the True Meaning of Masculinity) - The Perfect Gift for Young Men and New Fathers
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“The moon fled eastward like a frightened dove, while the stars changed their places in the heavens, like a disbanding army. 'Where are we?' asked Gil Gil. 'In France,' responded the Angel of Death. 'We have now traversed a large portion of the two bellicose nations which waged so sanguinary a war with each other at the beginning of the present century. We have seen the theater of the War of Succession. Conquered and conquerors both lie sleeping at this instant. My apprentice, Sleep, rules over the heroes who did not perish then, in battle, or afterward of sickness or of old age. I do not understand why it is that below on earth all men are not friends? The identity of your misfortunes and your weaknesses, the need you have of each other, the shortness of your life, the spectacle of the grandeur of other worlds, and the comparison between them and your littleness, all this should combine to unite you in brotherhood, like the passengers of a vessel threatened with shipwreck. There, there is neither love, nor hate, nor ambition, no one is debtor or creditor, no one is great or little, no one is handsome or ugly, no one is happy or unfortunate. The same danger surrounds all and my presence makes all equal. Well, then, what is the earth, seen from this height, but a ship which is foundering, a city delivered up to an epidemic or a conflagration?' 'What are those ignes fatui which I can see shining in certain places on the terrestrial globe, ever since the moon veiled her light?' asked the young man. 'They are cemeteries. We are now above Paris. Side by side with every city, every town, every village of the living there is always a city, a town, or a village of the dead, as the shadow is always beside the body. Geography, then, is of two kinds, although mortals only speak of the kind which is agreeable to them. A map of all the cemeteries which there are on the earth would be sufficient indication of the political geography of your world. You would miscalculate, however, in regard to the population; the dead cities are much more densely populated than the living; in the latter there are hardly three generations at one time, while, in the former, hundreds of generations are often crowded together. As for the lights you see shining, they are phosphorescent gleams from dead bodies, or rather they are the expiring gleams of thousands of vanished lives; they are the twilight glow of love, ambition, anger, genius, mercy; they are, in short, the last glow of a dying light, of the individuality which is disappearing, of the being yielding back his elements to mother earth. They are - and now it is that I have found the true word - the foam made by the river when it mingles its waters with those of the ocean.' The Angel of Death paused. ("The Friend of Death")”

WarDeathFriendshipViolenceEqualityBrotherhoodCemeteryAngel Of Death
Book:Ghostly By Gaslight
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