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Quote by M.Sriteja

“Children with less opportunities often become adults with more flexibility.”

Quote by M.Sriteja

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M.Sriteja

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“I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church--was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus's moving finger separated into words. But I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow--anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.”

ReadingChildhoodThought ProvokingTo Kill A MockingbirdHarper LeeScout Finch
Author:Harper Lee
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“...the place I was bound for on my latest pilgrimage was filled with living, first-hand memories of all the enchanted years that lie between two and eighteen. How enchanted those years are is made more and more clear to me the older I grow. There has been nothing in the least like them since; and though I have forgotten most of what happened six months ago, every incident, almost every day of those wonderful long years is perfectly distinct in my memory.”

Childhood
Book:Elizabeth and Her German Garden
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“Ficámos de novo sem assunto. Olhei à minha volta. O branco é triste como o negro, nunca antes o tinha sentido. (...) Não lhe acariciei a mão, nem lhe pus a minha sobre a testa, num gesto de consolação. Não fiz nada disso. E devia-o ter feito. Mas que a tristeza me dominou, que apeteceu chorar, por ver o meu pai tão doente, isso era verdade. Ele tê-lo-ia compreendido? Decerto é ilusão julgarmos que outras pessoas podem compartilhar dos nossos sentimentos através de simples palavras. Se eu dissesse que vejo na memória um homem encolhido na cadeira, metido num fato largo demais como se não pertencesse, com as mãos amarelo torcidas sobre o ventre e o olhar fixo no chão, alguém o verá como eu o vi?”

FatherChildhoodMemory
Book:O Mundo Em Que Vivi
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