Mary E. Pearson Quotes
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Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.
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What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.
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Maybe we all have a dark place inside of us, a place where dark thoughts and darker dreams live, but it doesn't have to become who we are.
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Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.
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On a small planet, where minute follows minute, day follows day, year follows year, where tradition marches on with a deafening, orderly beat -sometimes the order is disturbed by a dreamer, an artist, a scribbler - sometimes the beat is changed one person at a time.
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Faith and science, I have learned, are two sides of the same coin, separated by an expanse so small, but wide enough that one side can't see the other. They don't know they are connected.
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Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.
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Observing and understanding are two different things.
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The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others.
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I still cry on waking. I'm not sure why. I feel nothing. Nothing I can name, anyway. It's like breathing - something that happens over which I have no control. (6)
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I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.
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I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.
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Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)
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The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.
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My timing is off. But I had to get it out. Some things you have to tell, no matter how stupid they may sound. Some things you can't save for later. There might not be a later.
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Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.
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I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.
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But remember, child, we may all have our own story and destiny, and sometimes our seemingly bad fortune, but we're all part of a greater story too. One that transcends the soil, the wind, time even our own tears. Greater stories will have their way.
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My memory is coming back. It is curious how it comes. Each day, a rush of pieces, loosely connected, unimportant bits, snake through me. They click, click, click into my brain, like links being snapped together. And then they are done. A small chain of memories that fill in one tiny part of my life. They come out of nowhere, and most are not important.
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it is amazin, she thinks, how simple appearances can be created - a rush, a smile, a new coat of paint, a slow, calm voice, a hug, a new dress - a resolve to keep out questions and cling to secrets
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Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?
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Words have longer lives than people.
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Some things aren't meant to be known. Only believed.
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I wonder at the weight of a Sparrow.
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A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .
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How can you be sure?" "I'm a doctor, Jenna. And a scientist." "Does that make you an authority on everything? What about a soul, Father? When you were so busy implanting all your neural chips, did you think about that? Did you snip my soul from my old body, too? Where did you put it? Show me! Where? Where in all this groundbreaking technology did you insert my soul?
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The information. Every bit that of information that was ever in your brain. But the information is not the mind Jenna. That we've never accomplished before. What we've done with you is groundbreaking. We cracked the code. The mind is an energy that the brain produces. Think of a glass ball twirling on your fingertip. If it falls, it shatters into a million pieces. All the parts of a ball are still there, but it will never twirl with that force on your fingertip again. The brain is the same way.
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There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.
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Tell me who I am. (29)
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It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.
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