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Stories Of People Quotes

Browse 22 quotes about Stories Of People.

Stories Of People Quotes

“My wishes before I die, to fulfill my mission on earth; The writing of my life stories to inspired present and future generations.”

“Perhaps what unites this group of disparate souls is their unique sense of humor, one only an eighty or a ninety year old has. With each of those who shared their tales, I’ve smiled, chuckled, laughed out loud, and occasionally doubled over and laughed till I cried.”

“Storytelling creates a healing serum. The thematic unguent of our personal story represents a fusion of the ineffable truths that each of us must discover within ourselves.”

“Miracle story about Lahiri Mahasaya from a woman disciple, Abhoya, from Chapter 31, titled "An Interview with the Sacred Mother", in the book "Autobiography of a Yogi" by Yogananda*: She [Abhoya] and her husband, a Calcutta lawyer, started one day for Banaras to visit the guru. Their carriage was delayed by heavy traffic; they reached the Howrah main station in Calcutta only to hear the Banaras train whistling for departure. Abhoya, near the ticket office, stood quietly. "Lahiri Mahasaya, I beseech thee to stop the train!" she silently prayer. "I cannot suffer the pangs of delay in waiting another day to see thee." The wheels of the snorting train continued to move round and round, but there was no onward progress. The engineer and passengers descended to the platform to view the phenomenon. An English railroad guard approached Abhoya and her husband. Contrary to all precedent, the guard volunteered his services. "Babu," he said, "give me the money. I will buy your tickets while you get aboard." As soon as the couple was seated and had received the tickets, the train slowly moved forward. In panic, the engineer and passangers clambered again to their places, knowing neither how hte train started nor why it had stopped in the first place. Arriving at hte home of Lahiri Mahasaya in Banaras, Abhoya silently prostrated herself before the master, and tried to touch his feet. "Compose yourself, Abhoya," he remarked. "How you love to bother me! As if you could not have come here by the next train! - *More Lahiri Mahasaya miracle stories can be found in this chapter of this book.”

“At day’s end, when released from their chores, they fastened earmuffs under their chins, stole their mothers’ scarves to wind around their necks, and boarded wheeled vehicles they had fashioned from crates and boxes. Without engines or wings, the contraptions were earthbound, but, as they bumped their way downhill, the summer air breezed past the boys’ sky-angled faces, and if they dared close their eyes, they swore the crates took flight.”

“I came to, looking as together as one of Phil Spector’s hairdos. I felt like Clark Kent after a hard night on the kryptonite. I opened one eye. The morning sunlight slatted its way through the wooden shutters. The bed was strewn with naked bodies. A one-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering in the breeze, poised as it was, between a groupie’s buttocks. Even more concerning, a five-hundred-dollar bill was fluttering between mine.”

“Good stories are thematic and thought provoking. Every story has a meaning to the teller; sometimes the actual meaning of the story is latent. Is storytelling evidence of how we go about taking measure of our action-filled lives? Do stories tell how we hunker down in a foxhole in an all-out effort to survive? Does storytelling also pay homage to how the mind is predisposed to roam about in a cloudbank while we are belly crawling on the battlefield of time? Does the sprawl of our stories delve into what cinematic themes we find worthy of living for and risk death chasing? What does the synecdoche of our stories tell us about people and how does this knowledge assist us fit into this diverse world as individuals? Do self-selected stories guide us in choosing how to go about life? Does the hard kernel of our personal story allow us to reconcile how we actually live with how other well-meaning people coached us to live? Do poignant stories of our generation tell us whether we should aim for a life of leisure, aspire to acquire wealth, pine to take pleasurable junkets, maneuver to climb the ladder of social prestige, altruistically give to charity, or stoically sacrifice personal delight in order to mollify a religious deity? What does the sanctified marrow of cherished stories tell us about life?”

“Panisses, those chickpea fritters sold by vendors on every street corner, and served with harissa, tomatoes, or roasted halloumi, or grilled sardines; navettes, the little orange-flower biscuits Louis serves with coffee; fougasse, that crispy Provençal bread, enriched with olive oil and herbs; pieds paquets in spicy tomato sauce; olive tapenade with salt lemon confit.It feels good to learn, and Louis admits that I may have an aptitude. He has grown warmer towards me. The customers are happy. I am even allowed officially to handle the book of recipes. Each one has a story. This tapenade is the first thing she made, when she was only eight years old, in her grandmother's kitchen. This is her mother's clafoutis, made with the fat yellow cherries from the tree at the back of the garden. And these pomponettes are what she made for the guests on her wedding day; scented with orange blossom and sprinkled with nuts and sugar. Orange is the scent of hope, she writes in hasty handwriting. A promise of something small and sweet. A vow, built from spun sugar and dreams, melting in the sunlight.”

“As a Mental Health Advocate, I've learned that some stories take time to surface—patience is part of the healing process. Learn to understand when their isolation feels like rejection to you, because if they don't put themselves first, they're going to 'break'. To those who struggle to open up, know that your silence is understood, and your journey will unfold in its own time. Your story is safe with me, whether it’s told today, tomorrow, or when you’re ready”