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Biographies Quotes

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Biographies Quotes

“I don’t want the books [...] to be too far away; they, also, have become friends. I even feel this way about books I don’t own. In libraries, I find myself visiting the books I used before. I regard those rows of memoirs and letters as voices from the past, bound into books, and I like to make sure they are all there, alive and well. If they have collected dust, I take out the small towel I carry in my briefcase and wipe them off. -from 2012 NYT Book Review Essay”

“I was learning about journalism, and I was learning about politics. I discovered there was plenty of politics in journalism, dumping a story, a great story, to keep the Mayor happy. I heard Coach Michael’s voice in my head: ‘You can’t run and gun, girl.’ Mitch’s voice: ‘You can’t wear that bikini, girl.’ Even Janice’s voice: ‘You can’t tell anyone, ever.’ Can’t. Can’t. Can’t. That’s why I wasn’t going to back down (about killing the story).”

“There’s one more thing that happens as I listen to life stories. I realize I’m not just listening to other people’s stories; I’m helping them create their stories. Very few of us sit down one day and write out the story of our lives and then go out and recite it when somebody asks. For most of us it’s only when somebody asks us to tell a story about ourselves that we have to step back and organize the events and turn them into a coherent narrative. When you ask somebody to tell part of their story, you’re giving them an occasion to take that step back. You’re giving them an opportunity to construct an account of themselves and maybe see themselves in a new way. None of us can have an identity unless it is affirmed and acknowledged by others. So as you are telling me your story, you’re seeing the ways I affirm you and the ways I do not. You’re sensing the parts of the story that work and those that do not. If you feed me empty slogans about yourself, I withdraw. But if you stand more transparently before me, showing both your warts and your gifts, you feel my respectful and friendly gaze upon you, and that brings forth growth. In every life there is a pattern, a story line running through it all. We find that story when somebody gives an opportunity to tell it.”

“FDR Unmasked is first to present convincing evidence of Roosevelt’s battle with prostate cancer, underpinned by FBI memoranda and reliable firsthand information from multiple physicians - even a shocking admission by Eleanor Roosevelt to actress Veronica Lake that her husband was being treated for the disease.”

“Art, mythology, religion, philosophy, history, anthropology, science, and medicine along with literature, autobiographies, biographies, essays, memoirs, poetry, and other works of fiction and nonfiction serve as a vast library for us to scour in search of the hidden keys to attaining knowledge and happiness. We glimpse individual revelation along with selective rays of radiance from every person’s conscientious act of documenting their long-term commitment to achieving a gleaming living testament to enlightenment.”

“The lying was killing me! But I have high pain tolerance, especially self- inflicted pain. As I nearly emptied the bottle, I swore I saw Satan in the shadows of the darkened room. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he taunted me. “Congratulations on your diaconal ordination, Stephen.”

“I’d taken my vow of celibacy six months ago, and, strangely enough, today, I wouldn’t be asked to lie out loud again. But deep down in my conscience, that place where I hadn’t spent enough quality time, I knew I was an imposter.”

“As a young child, I realized that if I presented myself as perfect—caring, generous, understanding, and compliant— then I could control how people felt about me. At all costs, I wanted to be loved! I’d created a fantasy persona, but even now, I couldn’t recognize how far I had strayed from my self-imposed standard of perfection. I guess that’s what happens to a person when they receive too much praise. Was I as wonderful as everyone painted me? Or was I a skilled con artist? I had been riding the superiority- inferiority seesaw all weekend. As I grappled with a carousel of gnawing thoughts, I drank my third shot of scotch and snorted some blow, all to crush any self-doubt.”

“With a shooting pain to my head, I closed my eyes tight and envisioned the disgusted look on my mother’s face. The blueprint of the perfect child that Mom had so carefully crafted was incompatible with the lying, cheating, stealing man I had become; I felt worthless. But I had a new master, one that controlled my body, mind, and soul.”

“I thought, just tell this guy whatever he wants to hear. You only have fifteen days left of this twenty-eight-day sentence. “I guess you’re going to get me clean and sober,” I said flippantly. Exasperated, he said, “What would you do if you were me?” I cocked my head and said, “But I’m not you.” He sat back in his leather chair, folded his hands on the desk, and leaned toward me. “You do know, Stephen, that the foundation of your life is built on addiction quicksand, and the more you struggle, the faster you’ll sink?” I had to admit it; I had no witty comeback.”

“Sam and I sat across from each other in silence for what seemed like forever until he finally spoke. “Deceit is an art form for most addicts. Lies close enough to the truth that they remain undetected—and lies so grandiose you’d never imagine a person could make them up—are the foundation of a house of cards. Pull out just one half-truth, and the whole thing collapses. “You have become an expert at lying, Stephen.” I winced as my guilt hung around my neck like an albatross. Finally, in a voice that sounded small, weak, and strange even to me, I said, “I had a dream, you know. I’m in the middle of a monster-sized whirlwind, and I can see myself, hear myself screaming for help with one hand barely above the fray and—” “Stephen,” Sam interrupted, “Only a fool stays put during a hurricane.”

“It was like peeking behind the curtain only to discover the great and powerful Oz was an imposter. Child molesters, dressed in respectable Roman collars, had preyed on children for decades, leaving a wasteland of irreparably damaged souls.”

“I, for one, was outraged at the accused who trampled the trust of a child. I would never watch a priest take a minor upstairs to his bedroom, not for any reason! Nor would I ever cover for him. My anger was directed at the bishops, too, for their abysmal response. It was like we were living in a house that had rotted up to the rafters. Where would we begin to make repairs? Should we just knock it down and start again? Or should we simply move far, far away?”

“On September tenth, after a busy day at the parish, and without any forethought, I stopped at a liquor store before I headed upstate to the Villa. I wouldn’t allow myself to recognize the insanity of drinking a bottle of wine as I drove to a rehab facility. I flashbacked to my father’s beer cans, in paper bags, between his legs as he drove. I was sure God was tapping on my shoulder, but I wasn’t responding. I coasted comfortably on autopilot, one of the most dangerous modes a human being can find themselves.”

“Remorse hit me like a sledgehammer. I felt sick inside as I counted all the people I had let down. My brain quickly ran through several scenarios. Had I irreparably damaged my relationship with Charlie? Would Camilla finally abandon me? Would the Church blacklist me? In the court of public opinion, would I be considered a persona non grata?”

“There’s a certain mystique about a priest’s uniform; black slacks, black shirt, and Roman collar that evokes different responses from different people—sometimes reverence, other times disdain. Being perceived as a pillar of the community can be a heady experience for a new priest, and one’s ego needs to be checked continually. The collar can also be an aphrodisiac for certain women, single or married, who are attracted to and flirt with the “unattainable” priest.”

“When he returned from St. John Vianney, Charlie felt fully vindicated. “They couldn’t find one thing wrong with me, Stephen.” All I could think was, “Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.” I knew in my heart; I could not even cast a pebble.”

“Suddenly, there was no anger, no tears, or ultimatums. All that remained was the realization that the dream had withered and died. I guess that’s what happens to love when the expectations are too high, there are a plethora of insurmountable obstacles, and too much at stake. Even fairy tales have unexpected endings; not everyone lives happily ever after. For years, I had been swimming in a sea of other people’s expectations. Perhaps this breakup was the only way I could genuinely rediscover myself.”

“The old cliché, “There are no words,” is regarded by many as an empty platitude, but I beg to differ. Well-meaning people use the expression over and over because it’s true. We don’t have the language to describe the grief that comes in waves, swallows us up, and keeps us on our knees. There is no road map through grief: it takes time, patience, and love for the soul to heal and reemerge. A deep faith in God and the belief that, as promised, we will indeed see our loved ones again in heaven has kept many people anchored until such time as they can right the ship and find the joy in living again.”

“It took me two relapses,” I shared one evening at an AA meeting, “but I had my last drink in 2002 after I stared down my fears. Some of you may have been dealt a bad hand in life in one way or another, but that doesn’t mean you can’t reshuffle the cards.”

“I took a deep breath and willed myself to focus on the questions. “I don’t know. I like to rescue people, especially those in the throes of addiction. It’s like a derailed train; I swoop in like Superman and put the train back on the tracks. Is the train going to get to the next station? I don’t know, but at least it’s out of the ditch and upright before I walk away.”

“It’s an inconvenient truth that celibacy is a heavy burden. The Church perpetuated the notion that the vow of celibacy was the greatest act of self-sacrifice and commitment to God. However, few stop to seriously consider the loneliness and disconnectedness of celibacy and the constant struggle between being virtuous and sinful.”

“Some Catholics put priests on pedestals, viewing them as deserving of reverence for their sacred calling and sacrifice. The religious landscape is littered with priests who could not live up to the ideal of celibacy. Like a reluctant soldier sent off to war, to kill or be killed, priests who cannot maintain a celibate lifestyle were not fit for duty.”

“I returned to my seat, and immediately, the voices in my head pounced. “Tell me, Stephen. Is Camilla a lie or a secret? Isn’t a secret the same as a lie? Or is she simply a lie of omission? Which is it, Stephen, clandestine love or a cheap soap- opera affair?” Lying is a strange concept because it always relies on someone’s perspective.”

“Having Asperger’s is like having an enhancer plugged into an outlet in our brains. Asperger’s is an accelerator, amplifying the perceptions that we have on the world and the ambiance around us. Like going to the store and buying a device to plug in or install on something in order to make it run faster, Asperger’s will deepen everything’s significance, causing us to take things to a more intense level. Those of us with Asperger’s need to take our time on certain things, which causes us difficulty in accomplishing simple tasks. We learn to diligently persevere and be more prudent and careful. "Juggling the Issues: Living with Asperger’s Syndrome is an anthology explaining these topics through the eyes of someone with Asperger’s. This is more than a researcher giving an outline of what we face and what we can do. Instead, this is one of those books told by a person who has Asperger’s and has dealt with certain difficulties in order to experience achievements over the past twenty years. I have personally overcome and am still overcoming a lot of the trials that come with having Asperger’s.”

“I never allowed my Autism/Asperger's to have the prerogative to neither tear nor slow me down. I earned a degree in chemistry, juggle for elementary schools, play piano for seniors on Sunday mornings, and been mentoring children/teens from K-12 at Royal Rangers almost every week for six years and counting.”

“America needs to know this story because our Constitution is being attacked, our freedom threatened, innocent people are being framed and murdered, and the outlaw motorcycle club culture is on the verge of extinction.” – Jeff “Twitch” Burns, Patriot Gangster: Volume 1, Evolution of an Outlaw”

“A well-dressed, self-assured business executive steps into a quiet corner of the conference room, crowded with people. Everyone there is aware of her presence. She's dark-haired, petite, and alluring. She is quick to smile, and when she does, her whole face lights up. Her enthusiasm is infectious. Young men and women nod as they pass by, briefly breaking off their conversations with colleagues. The executive looks down at her compact electronic device and quickly texts: "Smile. Talk into the mic. Good luck.”

“That house was never put in order or cleaned out. Every instance of cleaning, or dusting, or purging of old things is an act of violence on a person's being and life. Every instance of cleaning is an accounting with one's own biography and the biographies of those close to us. A moment of our death and a reminder that nothing is lasting and everything moves towards oblivion. Dusting requires either sheer courage or the complete absence of a soul.”

“The last few weeks of that summer, Janice lost interest in our conversations…. Her mind was taking her to other places, as though she was listening to a song or watching a movie or reading a book we could neither see nor hear.”

“From the onset of polio in 1921 until his death, Franklin, his family, his inner circle of advisers, and teams of physicians assiduously disguised the state of his health, promoting the fantasy of a robust leader who was always in excel- lent physical condition for a man his age. Severe heart disease was not admit- ted until twenty-five years after his death, and then only as part of a new and larger cover-up to conceal other severe medical problems. These deceptions still dominate the present-day narrative of Franklin’s health, especially so in his later years.”

“Literature supplements the lives of people and enables us to feel connected with the world. Shared stories blunt a sense of tragic aloneness, and endow us with the tools to understand our humanness. Reading about the lives of other people acquaints us with the hardships of other people. The authorial voices of narrative prose express our shared feelings of deprivation”

“Not enough books focus on how a culture responds to radically new ideas or discovery. Especially in the biography genre, they tend to focus on all the sordid details in the life of the person who made the discovery. I find this path to be voyeuristic but not enlightening. Instead, I ask, After evolution was discovered, how did religion and society respond? After cities were electrified, how did daily life change? After the airplane could fly from one country to another, how did commerce or warfare change? After we walked on the Moon, how differently did we view Earth? My larger understanding of people, places and things derives primarily from stories surrounding questions such as those.”

“The biographies of great artists make it abundantly clear that the creative urge is often so imperious that it battens on their humanity and yokes everything to the service of the work, even at the cost of health and ordinary human happiness. The unborn work in the psyche of the artist is a force of nature that achieves its end either with tyrannical might or with the subtle cunning of nature herself, quite regardless of the personal fate of the man who is its vehicle.”