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Quote by Hiral Nagda

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Hiral Nagda

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“They remained imprisoned in the CICU, kept alive in physicality by mechanical devices and medicinal support, inexorably suffering. I revered their resiliency, though I struggled to understand whether they were truly resilient or if this was a descriptive term I used to assure myself that what we were doing was just. Could they merely represent physical beings at this point, molecular derivatives of carbon and water, void of souls that had moved on months prior once the universe had delivered their inevitable fate, simply kept alive by us physicians, who ourselves clutched desperately to the most favored of our prehistoric binary measures of success: life?”

ActionRelationshipsHumourDramaStressTraumaHealthcareBurnoutChildren S HospitalIcu Setting
Book:Burned Out
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“Acho que deve haver um equilíbrio entre a generosidade e o ceticismo. Nenhum deles deve levar a melhor de nós. Devemos sempre estar dispostos a ajudar, mas com tanto conhecimento sobre o assunto quanto possível. Porque com a cega generosidade podem vir, infelizmente, parasitas que dela se aproveitam. Com o cego ceticismo é quem mais necessita que fica a perder.”

ConhecimentoEquilibrioAntonio Pedro MoreiraDaqui AliGenerosidadeCeticismoParasitas
Book:Daqui Ali - De Portugal a Singapura Por Terra
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“É melhor ter alguma coisa do que não ter nada. Melhor ainda é partilhar generosamente o que temos. É ainda melhor, no entanto, sermos amplamente conhecidos pela nossa generosidade. É algo que perdura. É algo confiável. Podemos assim observar como foram estabelecidas as fundações dos conceitos de confiança, honestidade e generosidade. Criou-se a base para uma moralidade articulada. Aquele que verdadeiramente produz e partilha é o protótipo do bom cidadão e do bom homem.”

ConfiançaJordan B PetersonHonestidade12 Regras Para A VidaGenerosidadePartilha
Book:12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos
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“Alma knelt in the tall grass and brought her face as near as she could to the stone. And there, rising no more than an inch above the surface of the boulder, she saw a great and tiny forest. Nothing moved within this mossy world. She peered at it so closely that she could smell it- dank and rich and old. Gently, Alma pressed her hand into this tight little timberland. It compacted itself under her palm and then sprang back to form without complaint. There was something stirring about its response to her. The moss felt warm and spongy, several degrees warmer than the air around it, and far more damp than she had expected. It appeared to have its own weather. Alma put the magnifying lens to her eye and looked again. Now the miniature forest below her gaze sprang into majestic detail. She felt her breath catch. This was a stupefying kingdom. This was the Amazon jungle as seen from the back of a harpy eagle. She rode her eye above the surprising landscape, following its paths in every direction. Here were rich, abundant valleys filled with tiny trees of braided mermaid hair and minuscule, tangled vines. Here were barely visible tributaries running through that jungle, and here was a miniature ocean in a depression in the center of the boulder, where all the water pooled. Just across this ocean- which was half the size of Alma's shawl- she found another continent of moss altogether. On this new continent, everything was different. This corner of the boulder must receive more sunlight than the other, she surmised. Or slightly less rain? In any case, this was a new climate entirely. Here, the moss grew in mountain ranges the length of Alma's arms, in elegant, pine tree-shaped clusters of darker, more somber green. On another quadrant of the same boulder still, she found patches of infinitesimally small deserts, inhabited by some kind of sturdy, dry, flaking moss that had the appearance of cactus. Elsewhere, she found deep, diminutive fjords- so deep that, incredibly, even now in the month of June- the mosses within were still chilled by lingering traces of winter ice. But she also found warm estuaries, miniature cathedrals, and limestone caves the size of her thumb. Then Alma lifted her face and saw what was before her- dozens more such boulders, more than she could count, each one similarly carpeted, each one subtly different. She felt herself growing breathless. 'This was the entire world.' This was bigger than a world. This was the firmament of the universe, as seen through one of William Herschel's mighty telescopes. This was planetary and vast. These were ancient, unexplored galaxies, rolling forth in front of her- and it was all right here!”

MossSmall WorldAlma WhittakerMicroscopicMosses
Book:The Signature of All Things
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