Showing posts with label quotes. Show all posts

People spend their whole lives looking for meaning, trying to find something that will justify their existence and give them a reason to continue working and striving, to continue fighting for what they know is right and not to give up even when it seems as if everything is falling down around them. We often have such moments when we are ready to give up because nothing is going right and it looks like all our efforts are worthless and bring no results. As we realize the insignificance of a single human life in the context of the entire world, we despair and make the mistake of thinking that what we do does not matter.

There is an interesting passage about it in Chaim Potok's The Chosen. Chaim Potok is a brilliant writer and I really enjoy his books for their depth and their understand of human (and particularly religious) nature. I love the way he explores issues that relate to our religious community and have meaning for us, and his novels are so easy to get into because we can connect with the characters based on our own experiences.

Reuven, the protagonist of The Chosen, is worried because his father is putting what he feels are unnecessarily long hours into his work and his efforts to support a Zionistic state (this takes place before the establishment of the state of Israel). His father works late every night and barely sleeps, and when Reuven sees that it is taking a toll on his health, he feels the need to protest and to urge his father to see the doctor and to "take it a little easy." This is his father's response:

"Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye? ... I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that the blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life. It is hard work to fill one's life with meaning. That I do not think you understand yet. A life filled with meaning is worthy of rest. I want to be worthy of rest when I am no longer here."

Little pieces of wisdom from Les Liaisons Dangereuses, by Choderlos de Laclos

On passion and prudence:

"What you call happiness is but a tumult of the senses, a tempest of passions of which the mere view from the shore is terrible. Ah! Why confront these tempests? How dare embark upon a sea covered with the debris of so many thousand shipwrecks?" -- Madame de Tourvel

"I say my principles, and I say so decidedly; for they are not, like those of other women, the result of chance, received without scrutiny, and followed out of habit; they are the fruit of my profound reflections; I have created them, and I may say that I am my own handiwork." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

"What would virtue be without the duties which it imposes? Its worship lies in our sacrifices, its recompense in our hearts. These truths cannot be denied except by those who have an interest in disregarding them, and who, already depraved, hope to have a moment's illusion by endeavoring to justify their bad conduct by bad reasons." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

"It is not for the illusion of a moment to settle the choice of our life. In fact, in order to choose, one must compare; and how can that be done, when one is occupied by a single object, when even that object one cannot know, plunged as one is in intoxication and blindness?" -- Marquise de Merteuil.

"To what lengths will vanity not carry us! The wise man was right, indeed, when he said that it was the enemy of happiness." -- Marquise de Merteuil.

"Who is there who would not shudder, if he were to reflect upon the misfortunes that may be caused by even one dangerous acquaintance! And what troubles would one not avert by reflecting on this more often!" -- Madame de Volanges

Here is an interesting excerpt from The Warsaw Ghetto Diaries, by Dr. Hillel Seidman:

"Finally, I arrive at my own office in Grzybowska Street, and again thousands wait outside. Men seek official marriage certificates to protect their wives, since there is also a rumor that those holding marriage certificates will not be deported. Inside the Kehillah, too, depression reigns; everybody believes that workers alone will not be expelled.

Incidentally, in the house of Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Kanal at 6 Twarda Street are also large crowds -- busily getting married! Bachelors who have work cards marry women who have no work, to save them from deportation. These mass marriages are conducted in great haste. Zionist chalutzim marry chalutzot; tzukunftisim (Bundists) marry tukunftisiot. Women still unmarried seek 'husbands.' The ancient prophesy rings true: 'And on that day seven women will clutch at one man saying we will eat our own bread, wear our own clothes -- just allow your name to protect us.'"

(p. 51)

I guess it didn't matter what type of tablecloths their mothers used or where the girls received their education. Remind me again, why are people so thick-headed these days? Is it because we have gotten so used to the good life that we think every little detail has to be the way we want it to be?

There is something about writing that gives it the power to consume an individual and take over his or her life.

I have been writing compulsively the past few days. Each time a significant thought strikes me or I have an idea, I write it out thoroughly, which is something I have not done in a while. Thoughts that would usually go unnoticed by me and remain just that -- fleeting thoughts -- now become written words.

Sometimes, when writing seems to take precedence over everything else, it is difficult to actually live your life. When writing occupies all your thoughts and much of your time, there is little room left for living life as a normal human being.

But on the other hand, it is the most welcome thing after a period of writer's block, and if the urge to write comes, who am I to ignore it or regret it? I love writing; the fact that I have the ability to express what is in my head and heart is precious to me, even if most of that writing will never see the light of day.

Now all I need to do is write something that I will actually post on my blog or allow others to read. That should not take long.
Oh, and by the way, I added a second column in the sidebar on my blog and put up a number of quotes that I feel more than adequately express some of the things I believe.

I happened to look out the window an hour or so ago, and I saw that half of the sky was turning different shades of pink, while the other half was already a deep, dark blue, as the night was advancing.

It just struck me that I barely distinguish between sunrise and sunset these days. I observe both, and it is just something that happens. It does not indicate a certain time to me or mean much, other than that the lighting is different. Last night, as I looked out of my window before falling asleep, I saw that the sky was already rapidly lightening and I heard birds beginning to sing their morning songs. One night, as I was ready to allow sleep to overcome me, a sound pierced the silence of the night. Chirp, chirp. As the bird's voice broadcasted loudly into my room, I thought to myself, "Oh no, you have got to be kidding. Please don't do this now." Seriously, those birds start being vocal as early as 5 AM.

It has been this way since Motzei Shabbat, and despite my attempts to change this schedule, it seems to be stubbornly fixed into place for now. (We will see what effect Israel and the different time zones will have on this.)

There is something about nighttime that I have always loved. It seems to bring out my creativity, and it intensifies all of my thoughts and emotions, which translates wonderfully into writing. I remember when I was fourteen, and I was working on my first book, I stayed up every night past 3 AM and wrote pages and pages, because that was just when the inspiration seemed to come to me. And the past few nights have been no exception. I have many pages of writing to show for this past week, and most of it was the result of a sudden urge to express something I was feeling. I actually quite like some of the poetry that has come from these sleepless nights.

Thoughts just strike me, like lightning, and they remain impressed on my mind until I give them an outlet and write them down. When ideas come to me, I feel as though I cannot just ignore them, even if is what I would normally do during the daytime. At night, they somehow feel more significant, and I feel I must record them. So I got into the habit of keeping a notebook next to my bed, and whenever the urge strikes me, I pick it up and begin to write in the darkness, completely missing the lines and unable to dot my i's and cross my t's. But it works.

This actually reminds me of some Phantom of the Opera lyrics....
"Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs and wakes imagination."

Last night, as I was trying (in vain) to fall asleep, I heard an airplane or a helicopter flying somewhere in the distance. And... it made me think (no surprise there).

I have only been on an airplane four times in my life -- to and from Israel (when I was four and was completely traumatized by the experience), and to and from California (a couple of years ago). One of the most fascinating parts of the California vacation, for me, was the plane trip. I just loved looking down and seeing these mini-towns below me, almost like doll cities. On our red-eye flight back to New York, I saw the lights of Los Angeles twinkling below us amidst the darkness. It was delightful.

From an airplane, the world below you seems like nothing. The people are too small and too far away to really matter, and when we see that one town below us, its inhabitants seem so insignificant to us. At first, they are mere specks, and then they become invisible, and their houses become mere specks, until finally, the entire town becomes a mere speck from your perspective.

Is it not amazing then that G-d, who sees the entire world below him, all those countless specks, cares about and watches over every single one of us? Although there are millions of us, all these tiny little ants, He still sees us as individuals, and nobody escapes His notice?

"Humanity can be quite cold to those whose eyes see the world differently." -- Eric A. Burns

"Ignorance and inconsideration are the two great causes of the ruin of mankind." -- John Tillotson

"The greater the ignorance the greater the dogmatism." -- Sir William Osler

Sometimes, I feel as though there is not much to do but despair over the sorry state of the world and of humanity. I wonder whether there will ever be an end to this... the end of senseless hatred based on willful ignorance, the end of discrimination and prejudice, the end of the pain we cause each other.

I decided to write this post after reading this one, but it took me a while to get to actually writing it.

Charles Dickens quickly became one of my favorite authors as I became interested in classic literature in elementary school. Whenever I went to the library, making a beeline for the assignments section, I would search for an interesting book I had not yet read. Honestly, I could stand there for an hour looking through different classic works, but if I did not have a lot of time in which to choose a book, I would just go with Charles Dickens, because I knew that his works were something I could always rely on to be interesting and profound. It is a good thing that he published so many books and most of them are quite long, because I still have not read all his works, so I have what to look forward to.

I find that his masterpieces contain a wide variety of interesting, deep characters, as well as thought-provoking ideas and statements. Sometimes, he can aptly sum up in one sentence a whole range of thoughts and emotions, and I often find myself stopping for as long as fifteen minutes just to digest and contemplate one thing he wrote. If I had somebody to discuss it with, each of those pauses would probably turn into a half-hour conversation.

I read Little Dorrit last year, and I bookmarked a few pages with lines that I particularly appreciated. So right now, I want to make a few observations about the book, talk about some quotes and the author's brilliance.

His method of portraying Mr. Dorrit’s character is both clever and amusing. Without explicitly stating that Mr. Dorrit becomes a pompous fool after he gets rich, Charles Dickens makes it quite clear to the readers that such is the case. He infuses an occasional “ha” or “hum” into Mr. Dorrit’s speech, which somehow tells the readers all they need to know and makes Mr. Dorrit seem somewhat ridiculous. Some people, we see, let their financial status get to their heads a bit too much.


Another thing I found fascinating was the letter Amy Dorrit wrote to Arthur Clennam during her travels. It was forcibly reminded of my ramblings in my journal. Amy wrote in the letter everything that happened to her, and she wrote paragraphs explaining her feelings. She filled up many pages in an attempt to fully describe her thoughts, emotions, and the reasons behind them. What particularly struck me was the fact that she was writing this to him. To me, it seems like something one would prefer to keep private, not something that should be fully explained with every detail in a letter -- especially since their relationship seemed somewhat uncertain and hazy. I suppose it shows what a trusting girl she was.

I wish Arthur could have examined Amy's letters with an open mind. To an outsider like me, it is plain as daylight that Amy loves Arthur and holds dear to her heart whatever he holds dear to his. It is strange that Arthur does not realize this, and if I was in their world—once I finished laughing at him—I would feel compelled to enlighten him.

“He had the power… of explaining what he himself perceived, and meant, with the direct force and distinctness with which it struck his own mind.”

That quote describes exactly how I wish my writing to be. I want to have that ability to write down my precise thoughts and emotions in a way that would enable my reader to understand and connect to it. And I must say -- I just loved that sentence.

Here are a few more quotes I appreciated:

* “New zig-zags sprung into the cruel pattern sometimes, when she saw it through a burst of tears.” I thought it was a rather brilliant way of describing crying.

* “Between the real landscape and its shadow in the water, there was no division; both were so untroubled and clear, and, while so fraught with solemn mystery of life and death, so hopefully reassuring to the gazer’s soothed heart, because so tenderly and mercifully beautiful.” Perhaps this explains our fascination with nature?

* “They came out of the avenue next moment, arm-in-arm as they had entered it: and the trees seemed to close up behind them in the darkness, like their own perspective of the past.” I found this sentence very beautiful. This was one of those things I had to pause for, just to let the idea and the brilliance of it sink in. I love when one sentence can so perfectly sum up an idea. Charles Dickens had that talent of packing so much significance into a single sentence, and that is one of the things I love about his writing. The same goes for the next quote.

* “While the flowers, pale and unreal in the moonlight, floated away upon the river; and thus do greater things that once were in our breasts, and near our hearts, flow from us to the eternal seas.”

* “He seemed to have an insatiate delight in appealing to her and looking at her; excitedly sticking his hair up and the same moment, like a dark species of cockatoo.” This kind of reminds me of my Pigeons and Shidduchim post.

* “…The waters of Venice and the ruins of Rome… were daily being sketched out of all earthly proportion, lineament, and likeness, by traveling pencils innumerable….”

I don't want to go on for hours (although I can), so I will stop here. I do recommend this book though -- as well as all other books by Charles Dickens -- to all of my readers.

Coming soon -- a post about another favorite of mine, Edgar Allan Poe!

Have you ever had one of those days when you just cannot stop thinking about a certain novel? It seems to follow you wherever you go, and it is in your mind no matter what it is you are doing at the time.

That is what is happening to me today with Anne Bronte's novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. When I first read it, I could not get it out of my head either. But now, I don't see why it should be occupying my thoughts so much. I recently mentioned the BBC series in my post on period pieces, and yesterday I decided to watch it again.

Perhaps that is why the novel found its way into the essay I had to write for the Touro English placement exam today. One of the choices for the essay was "Knowledge is power" vs. "Ignorance is bliss." What a wonderful topic, I thought, and I decided to do it. I claimed that knowledge is, indeed, power, while ignorance often leads to misery. As one of the proofs, I mentioned The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, and how Helen's ignorance led to misery and pain. Had she known her husband's true nature and the hopelessness of changing or reforming him, she would not have married him. At the time that she accepted his proposal, she was unaware of the extent of his debauchery. Ignorance is bliss? I don't think so. That ignorance caused her to get stuck with an abusive and unfaithful husband.


I remembered bookmarking some pages in my copy of the book to which I wanted to go back, so I just took it off the shelf again and thought I might as well post my thoughts and some quotes I liked.

Helen, the main character of the book, once said, "I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received." I too prefer real, thorough conversations to small talk, but when everybody around you is so attached to small talk, it is difficult to avoid it. Whenever there is a silence, people feel the need to fill it instead of simply enjoying the moment. Why must something always be said, though? If there is nothing worth saying, would it not be better to remain silent?

Another thing I appreciated was the following exchange between Helen and Mr. Markham as they observed the beauty of nature:
Helen: "I almost wish I were not a painter."
Mr. Markham: "Why so? One would think at such a time you would most exult in your privilege of being able to imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of nature."
Helen: "No; for instead of delivering myself up to the full enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling my head about how I could produce the same effect upon canvas; and as that can never be done, it is mere vanity and vexation of spirit."

I often feel this way in regard to my writing. Although I love to write and it is something I do on a constant basis, there are moments when I feel as if I cannot fully experience something because I am busy thinking of how I can get it into writing. Even though I appreciate having what to write about, it is sometimes a bit overwhelming because I feel I cannot go onto the next experience until I have done justice to the previous one.

Here is another quote from Helen that adequately describes what my feelings are toward writing: "This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart." I tend to do that a lot; I avoid confiding many of my thoughts, and my idea of sharing them is to write them down in a notebook. Although I am sitting here now and typing up my present thoughts for my blog, it is nothing compared to what I keep between me and my notebooks.

It is wonderful how often books mirror your own thoughts and how accurately they do so. I found it to be especially true with this book, which is, I suppose, why I wanted to dedicate a post to it.

I took my last final of the eleventh grade today, and I feel so relieved that it is over. I still have a math test (not a final), a Touro English Placement exam, and the Math B Regent (in that order), but for today and Shabbat I can just relax.

I have been getting, on average, five hours of sleep a night since finals started. One night, I got as little as three and a half hours. Surprisingly, I have not had any coffee (besides for, well, some small interesting drink with coffee in it). I used to drink at least a cup of coffee every single day before going to school, just to keep myself awake, and I basically functioned on that. But I wanted to be less dependant on it, so I slowly started the switch to green tea, and that is what I have been drinking these past few months. Despite all the sleep deprivation, I was completely awake every day and was able to focus on studying and on taking the finals. Today, however, it has all finally caught up to me: I am exhausted. I could barely keep my eyes from closing during today's final, and the only reason I am sitting here and typing this post as opposed to going to sleep is that I do not usually fall asleep during the daytime unless I am sick. If my mother ever sees me sleeping during the day, she gets worried and feels my forehead. That's how it is.

There are a few good outcomes from all this studying though.
A) I knew the material and hopefully did well on the tests.
B) Some of the finals were actually very interesting to study for, and I enjoyed it.
C) When studying takes up most of your time, eating gets less time, so I lost a little bit of weight. Boredom, on the other hand, leads to scavenging for food.
D) When I did eat, it was mostly healthy. I did not have much time to find stuff for myself, so my mother kindly gave me food while I was studying. Since it is my mom we're talking about, the food was all healthy. I think I ate more fruits this week than I have in the past few months.
E) I can now appreciate the summer and the opportunities for relaxation more.

On a completely different note -- I have a little box with quotes of the day on my Google homepage, and I found this little gem today:

"Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something." -- Plato.