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Quote by Rachel Hartman

“There's honest work to be done, Johnny," whispered Griss. "The world is full of work, waiting for you.”

Book:Tess of the Road

Work

Tess of the Road

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Author

Rachel Hartman

Rachel Hartman, born on July 9, 1972, is an accomplished American author of children's literature. Known for her unique literary style and profound thematic explorations, her works, including the 'Seraphina' series and the 'The DragonKeeper Chronicles', have gained widespread popularity among readers. more

“It is undignified to inject yourself with hormones designed to slow or enhance ovarian production. It is undignified to have your ovaries monitored by transvaginal ultrasound; to be sedated so that your eggs can be aspirated into a needle; to have your husband emerge sheepishly from a locked room with the “sample” that will be combined with your eggs under supervision of an embryologist. The grainy photo they hand you on transfer day, of your eight-celled embryo (which does not look remotely like a baby), is undignified, and so is all the waiting and despairing that follows.”

Waiting Medicine Fertility Infertility Reproductive Health Dispair Ivf Embryology Undignified

Book:The Art of Waiting: On Fertility, Medicine, and Motherhood

Source: The Art of Waiting: On Fertility, Medicine, and Motherhood

“Every waiting season in my life has left its mark on me. I have memories, scars. And honestly? I don’t mind the scars anymore. They are part of me now; I wouldn’t recognize myself without them.”

Inspirational Waiting Scars

Book:When God Says "Wait": Navigating Life's Detours and Delays Without Losing Your Faith, Your Friends, or Your Mind

Source: When God Says "Wait": Navigating Life's Detours and Delays Without Losing Your Faith, Your Friends, or Your Mind

“The man who waits to know everything is the man who never does anything.”

Success Fear Waiting Knowledge Brave Frightened Fearful Procrastination Bold

Author:Craig D. Lounsbrough

“On Not Finding You at Home Usually you appear at the front door when you hear my steps on the gravel, but today the door was closed, not a wisp of pale smoke from the chimney. I peered into a window but there was nothing but a table with a comb, some yellow flowers in a glass of water and dark shadows in the corners of the room. I stood for a while under the big tree and listened to the wind and the birds, your wind and your birds, your dark green woods beyong the clearing. This is not what it is like to be you, I realized after a few of your magnificent clouds flew over the rooftop. It is just me thinking about being you. And before I headed back down the hill, I walked in a circle around your house, making an invisible line which you would have to cross before dark.”