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Richelle E Goodrich Quotes

Browse 900 quotes about Richelle E Goodrich.

Richelle E Goodrich Quotes

“School is about gaining knowledge. Relationships are about gaining knowledge. Talents and abilities are about gaining knowledge. The world in its universe is about gaining knowledge. Your very existence in time is about gaining knowledge. If the days are passing by and you are not gaining knowledge, seriously stop and examine why not.”

“Despair is not for the living but for those unable to rise and continue; they are the only souls with a right to it. It is an end where breath and strength and will have vanished, leaving no way to persevere. To sink into the abyss that is despair is to suffer an existence far worse than death; therefore, cling to its enemy, our ally—hope. For life goes on, and we must not live in despair. We must not.”

“Lift up your eyes and see the good in the world, for we are people with an amazing capacity to do great good. And if only the minority choose to exercise this capacity to the smallest degree, oh how wondrous and sweet the deeds performed at but a few hands!”

“I believe life is an education meant to teach us the need to be better people.  And I believe this learning often takes place through trial and error which may mean being an awful person at times before clearly seeing and grasping the necessity to improve. If you don't agree with me, just ask Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge.  I think Charles Dickens got it quite right.”

“Feeling discouraged does not mean you quit. Feeling sad does not mean joy is nonexistent. Feeling lonely does not mean you are alone. Feeling anxious does not mean you are in danger. Feeling loss does not mean you have nothing. Feeling angry does not mean you lose control. Feeling sorry does not mean you are at fault. What you feel is not necessarily what is.”

“I find only sadness and melancholy when I wade through the past, even when revisiting good memories. The past is gone; I can neither grasp it nor reshape it. Therefore, I must force my eyes to look toward the future where my mortal powers thrive.”

“People will insist on building high and wide barriers directly in your path, often with the intent of closing you in. If you treat these obstacles like fencing walls, they will prove mightily so. I choose to see them as grand towers meant to be scaled and conquered, providing an added victory as well as a great view of the journey ahead.”

“People are a lot like clay. They come in differing shades and consistencies and are easier to mold than one might think. Sometimes, they harden up a bit. Sometimes, God adds a little water to soften them. In every aspect—physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually—a person can be successfully pressed and turned and smoothed by degrees. These subtle changes often go unnoticed until added upon over time. The sad thing isn’t how our claylike qualities give so easily to change. No. What is sad is the innumerable people who fail to realize they have the tools to mold their own clay.”

“Regardless of whether you admit it or not, if you have done wrong then you have done wrong. No excuse, no lie, no alibi, no rationalization or justification will change it. And no power under Heaven can conceal it from the all-seeing eyes of God.”

“Failure is respectable. Quitting is not. If you have worked hard and failed after giving every effort to make use of the opportunities available—so be it. At least you fought with all your might to make it otherwise. That is deserving of respect.”

“Accomplishments don’t just fall in your lap, they first demand a great deal from you—things like study and learning; intentional, arduous work; steadfast determination; ongoing attempts despite failures; personal sweat, blood, tears; and moments of exhaustion. Accomplishments don’t just fall in your lap, the demand actual growth.”

“Afraid of offending with an off word or the slightest insensitivity, I keep an unobtrusive and silent distance. Nevertheless, my pursed lips and offish stance are perceived as cold, managing to offend all.”

“The sweetest melody that plays on starry nights and wintry days, most soothing to my listening ears and calming to beleaguering fears, I call a symphony on air― the song of sweet, still silence rare.”

“I slept in the closet that night. Paranoia and a wild imagination had me picturing a drunken man tearing into my bedroom with an automatic weapon, screaming like a lunatic while blasting holes in my mattress until fluffs of padding flew everywhere and no sleeping child could possibly be left breathing. The closet just felt safer.”

“I would prefer that you not touch me," I said when her hand moved as if she intended to comb her long nails through my hair. "I’m afraid it can’t be helped," she replied. Her fingers passed close to my ear as they divided my straight lengths into sections and lifted the whole away from my face. There was a brazenness to her smile for a moment. She then released my hair, letting it fall onto my shoulders. I swallowed back a rise of anxiety, wondering if Thaddeus was right to fear her.”

“How does a tiny heart harbor so many clashing sentiments? One moment it is devoted. The next, purely disdaining. Weeping at tremendous heartache and then laughing, lighthearted, through the same tears. How can a heart rage so fierce as to boil blood while it turns to ice? How is this done? To love, hate, esteem, deride, rejoice, deplore, favor, resent— all of these and more swirling inside. This sensitive heart, so full and resilient, buoys up to the point of bursting and then deflates on a dime. It is a slave to whims and whispers. How is it that the human heart beats so wild and untamed?”

“Such a nasty bruise,” he says, staring straight into my eyes. I am stunned he can see it. Delicate to the touch and tender on every side, the bruise is deeper than days. My hand automatically moves to my chest. Science taught me with valid assurance that my heart was fixed in my rib cage, but life has since shown me otherwise. My heart in fact dangles from a tangle of strings. The ends are grasped tight by numerous people who yank and release, having caused many painful bruises over time. I cry because they are invisible to most. “Such a nasty bruise,” he repeats, tugging on my poor heart. His kind eyes fall away from mine as I feel a squeeze on my arm. He twists it enough to show me a small, round patch of purple surrounded by a sickly yellowish corona. “Oh. My elbow.” I let the air exhale from my lungs. Another bruise forms where my heart has hit the floor. It is jerked up again. “Can I do anything for you?” I see in his eyes the mirror image of a finger—his finger—wrapped in one of the dangling strings. He tugs and I feel it. “No,” I reply to his question. But it is a lie. There is something he could do, along with all who grasp a portion of the web entangling my heart. I wish they would mercifully let go.”