Heidi Book Quotes

I am a reader, a flashlight-under-the-covers, carries-a-book-everywhere-I-go​, don't-look-at-my-Amazon-bill. I choose purses based on whether I can cram a paperback into them, and my books are the first items I pack into a suitcase. I am the person who family and friends call when they need a book recommendation or cannot remember who wrote Heidi. My identity as a person is so entwined with my love of reading and books that I cannot separate the two.

If you don't see the book you want on the shelf write it.

Every book is a revolution. Books are our ticket out of boredom, despair, loneliness—but also ignorance.

I really am Super Emmet, and like the comic book Superman, I have a powerful secret weapon. My mom.

Every action has a reaction,everything we do or say has an effect.

I was a closed book, a rolled map, a dark territory uncharted; I was surprised by my urgency, but after all, to be known was to exist.

Like so many of the other books I read, it never seemed to me like a book, but like a place I had lived in, had visited and would visit again, just as all the people in them, every blessed one – Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, Jay Gatsby, Elizabeth Bennet, Scarlet O'Hara, Dill and Scout, Miss Marple, and Hercule Poirot – were more real than the real people I knew.

His eyes were so inviting that for a moment, everything in me wanted to reveal this part of myself, as though the truth was a butterfly, wings fluttering, green and gold and quivering to be free. I was a closed book, a rolled map, a dark territory, uncharted; I was surprised by my urgency, but after all, to be known was to exist.

Anne of Green Gables was cuddled up next to Huckleberry Finn; The Hunchback of Notre Dame was wedged tightly between Heidi and Little Women; and Nicholas Nickleby leaned in a familiar way against A Girl of the Limberlost. None of the books were in alphabetical order, which made it necessary to cock my head sideways to read each one of the spines. By the end of the third shelf I had begun to realize why librarians are sometimes able to achieve such pinnacles of crankiness: It’s because they’re in agony. If only publishers could be persuaded, I thought, to stamp all book titles horizontally instead of vertically, a great deal of unpleasantness could be avoided all round.

My favorite thing in the world to do is read a book. I read Heidi, which I love, then I read another book, then I read Heidi again. If I stopped reading Heidi in between the other books, I'd be able to read twice as many books, but the thing is I like reading Heidi. So I do.

Aunt Loretta has something that maybe you could call class. It's not the made-up kind that Grandma has, fake pearls and Sunday hats, but something that comes to you as if you were born to the king and queen. Aunt Loretta understands better than Grandma that reading a big book is more classy than wearing fake pearls watching TV.

Or perhaps it was the crying woman's mention of the unread library books, because truly there was nothing sadder, except a gift that a person has hand made for you, a scarf or a poncho, that, try as you might, you cannot ever see your way into wearing. This is when the cold indifference of the world envelops you, and makes you feel invigorated by emotion but also acutely alone.

This book is about confronting your bad behaviors. It’s about understanding your infuriating inconsistencies. It’s about stripping the stereotypes that surround your personality and making peace with who you are at your core. This book is about becoming the best possible version of yourself.

the past is now barely present in my thoughts. I believe the main reason for that is our children, since life with them in the here and now occupies all the space. They even squeeze out the most recent past: Ask me what I did three days ago and I can’t remember. Ask me what Vanja was like two years ago, Heidi two months ago, John two weeks ago, and I can’t remember. A lot happens in our little everyday life, but it always happens within the same routine, and more than anything else it has changed my perspective of time. For, while previously I saw time as a stretch of terrain that had to be covered, with the future as a distant prospect, hopefully a bright one, and never boring at any rate, now it is interwoven with our life here and in a totally different way.

I did not mean to rate my own book, so it is very embarrassing that I can't find the edit tool to remove it. Deeply sorry that I messed around with the button...

I was a closed book, a rolled map, a dark territory, uncharted; I was surprised by my urgency, but after all, to be known was to exist.

I reread books to measure my degree of difference from myself.

Have Dolores Umbridge as your mother? or Have Bellatrix Lestrange as your mother?

Be a responsible steward for your life, those in your life, and how your life affects others. Live in honesty and look people in the eye. Be accountable for your actions and how your actions affect others.

Pueblo, Colorado, a corrupt and decaying mining town high in the Rockies, is the setting for Heidi Julavits’s The Mineral Palace, a story of motherhood, a troubled marriage, and the unveiling of long-held secrets.

Keeping books is not hoarding!” Nory said fiercely, clutching an aged copy of Heidi to her chest. “It’s protecting history. The written word is the key to the secrets of this world and all the worlds that live in our minds.

I suppose the one problem I haven’t figured out a good solution for—the one that keeps coming up again and again—is how I come across to other people. I get the feeling that sometimes people think I’m being critical, or aloof, or disengaged, and that’s not at all my intention. But I don’t know how to fix it, because I don’t understand what they are seeing. If there was a book about that, one that was based on evidence and not just bullshit, I would read it.

I understand that it’s disheartening to pour effort and money into a work of art and find that others do not value it with the same intensity. I’ve been to this rodeo more than a few times, and yes, it’s painful and hard on the soul. It is also the sort of thing that grown-ups do every day. Anyone deluded enough to think they are owed monetary success because they bled for their art is in for some hard, hard knocks and buckets full of tears. There will be many cries of “unfair” and much jealousy and hatred. And to be fair, all authors go through this every time they watch their books ride the waves of bestseller charts and the ego torture chamber known as Goodreads reviews. Even the most well-adjusted of us watch that horrible piece of shit book beat our baby to pieces and gnash our teeth and shout at our monitors demanding to know what brain-donors are shopping on amazon.com these days. But holy Smart Bitch on a cracker, Batman, to write a post about how stupid readers are and worse to actually put it out there on the internet is so beyond the pale there’s a special hell for that kind of idiocy. Let me repeat: authors exist at the pleasure of readers. Without the people who buy and read my books, I am just another dizzy broad writing shit down. Readers aren’t just an author’s audience; they are her lifeblood. --

You will not get over your ex all at once. You’ll get over them through a series of tiny, tender moments that bring you quietly back to yourself. And in some ways they’ll never really leave you. The people who change us in those big, irrevocable ways never do. To get over them we’d have to alter ourselves into people so unrecognizable that we’d lose who we are in the process. And so instead we learn to integrate the influence they had – the books you now read because of topics that they turned you on to. The music you now download because of the lyrics they loved. The ways you now look at the world that would never had occurred to you if they had not opened your eyes up to seeing and doing things differently. We don’t ever lose people we love in their entirety and perhaps we never should – we ourselves become bigger, more encompassing people because of it. You’ll get over your ex the day you realize that you damn well may never get over them. That pieces of them are going to live on inside you forever and that discarding them would mean discarding parts of yourself. But the day that you get to move on is the day you simply decide to do so in spite of it – in spite of the tired, restless ache that begs you not to take a chance. In spite of the fearful, self-conscious mind that tells you nobody will ever love you better. In spite of every careless part of you that wants to keep holding on but knows that it needs to let go. The day when you finally move on is the day you decide move forward – with all of your fear, all your pain and all your subtle hesitations. It’s the day you finally get over yourself.

Then there were her childhood book: Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, What Katy did next, Pollyanna - stories about girls who were good. All Pollyanna had ever done wrong was ruin her parasol. Beth in Little Women was so perfect she was only fit for heaven. Why were girls in novels exemplary, almost saintly? Grace preferred adventure stories, histories and romances about what to do if you were damned and female, tales about women who were kind, likeable and believable, who escaped unpunished. No thin Quakers with lace caps. No beatific consumptives coughing delicately. No unloved, eternally jolly orphans. Grace craved books about girls like herself: good women, normal women in a world bigger and more powerful than themselves.

We -- editors, writers, teachers, publishers -- need to do whatever we can to enliven readers, to help create communities for them if we want to continue to have readers at all. Our independent bookstores are the front lines, and many booksellers are fighting the good fight. Here, books stimulate conversation. Conversation stimulates a sense of community. Listening happens. Thinking. The exchange of thoughts.

Key Takeaways We don’t communicate nearly as much information as we think we do. When you say, “He knows what I meant” or “I made myself clear,” chances are, he doesn’t and you didn’t. Our faces are not nearly as expressive as we think they are; mild boredom can look an awful lot like mild interest or mild concern. We fall prey to two assumptions: (1) that other people see us objectively as we are and (2) that other people see us as we see ourselves. In fact, our perceivers don’t even agree with each other on what they see in us. There are two main reasons we’re so hard to understand: First, no one is actually an open book. And second, our actions are always subject to interpretation.

Isn't that a beautiful tale, grandfather," said Heidi, as the latter continued to sit without speaking, for she had expected him to express pleasure and astonishment. "You are right, Heidi; it is a beautiful tale," he replied, but he looked so grave as he said it that Heidi grew silent herself and sat looking quietly at her pictures. Presently she pushed her book gently in front of him and said, "See how happy he is there," and she pointed with her finger to the figure of the returned prodigal, who was standing by his father clad in fresh raiment as one of his own sons again. A few hours later, as Heidi lay fast asleep in her bed, the grandfather went up the ladder and put his lamp down near her bed so that the light fell on the sleeping child. Her hands were still folded as if she had fallen asleep saying her prayers, an expression of peace and trust lay on the little face, and something in it seemed to appeal to the grandfather, for he stood a long time gazing down at her without speaking. At last he too folded his hands, and with bowed head said in a low voice, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee and am not worthy to be called thy son." And two large tears rolled down the old man's cheeks. Early the next morning he stood in front of his hut and gazed quietly around him. The fresh bright morning sun lay on mountain and valley. The sound of a few early bells rang up from the valley, and the birds were singing their morning song in the fir trees. He stepped back into the hut and called up, "Come along, Heidi! the sun is up! Put on your best frock, for we are going to church together!" Heidi was not long getting ready; it was such an unusual summons from her grandfather that she must make haste. She put on her smart Frankfurt dress and soon went down, but when she saw her grandfather she stood still, gazing at him in astonishment. "Why, grandfather!" she exclaimed, "I never saw you look like that before! and the coat with the silver buttons! Oh, you do look nice in your Sunday coat!" The old man smiled and replied, "And you too; now come along!" He took Heidi's hand in his and together they walked down the mountain side. The bells were ringing in every direction now, sounding louder and fuller as they neared the valley, and Heidi listened to them with delight. "Hark at them, grandfather! it's like a great festival!" The congregation had already assembled and the singing had begun when Heidi and her grandfather entered the church at Dorfli and sat down at the back. But before the hymn was over every one was nudging his neighbor and whispering, "Do you see? Alm-Uncle is in church!" Soon everybody in the church knew of Alm-Uncle's presence, and the women kept on turning round to look and quite lost their place in the singing. But everybody became more attentive when the sermon began, for the preacher spoke with such warmth and thankfulness that those present felt the effect of his words, as if some great joy had come to them all.

In their book Future Shock, the futurists Alvin and Heidi Toffler wrote that “change is the only constant,” and “to survive, to avert what we have termed future shock, the individual must become infinitely more adaptable and capable than ever before.” Those words were originally published in 1970. The pace of change has only accelerated since then.

Would You Rather: Become a Dementor? or Become a Horcrux? Have Crookshanks as a pet? or Have Hedwig as a pet? Would

He was about to kiss me. I was sure of it. I had never been kissed before and had no idea what to do! - Delphine Delmar

You are numb in your existence and have no control of your life. You feel your choices have no meaning and your actions don’t matter. The rule is to do unto others before they do unto you. You live in defense, allowing life to knock you around. You do not value the wisdom of anyone you know because, most of the time, they won’t tell you the truth anyway-only what they think you want to hear. You and the people around you rarely call each other - you only text and the only place you think you truly live is on Facebook

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” has been changed to “Do unto others before they do it to you.

The sisters and brothers that you meet give you the materials which your character uses to build itself. It is said that some people are born great, others achieve it, and some have it thrust upon them. In truth, the

ways in which your character is built have to do with all three of those. Those around you, those you choose, and those who choose you.” ― Maya Angelou, Author, Poet, Educator

Yesterday we looked at the real life example of Jesus.  Today we are going to look at another real life example of God using a young person.  This is a story found in the book of 1 Samuel and it is one of the most familiar stories in the entire Bible. 

In their thought-provoking book Focus, researchers Tory Higgins and Heidi Grant Halvorson argue that people lean toward being “promotion-focused” or “prevention-focused” in their aims.

The famous Howard and Heidi experiment (referred to by Sheryl Sandberg in her 2013 book Lean In) shows that the higher men are rated on skills, the higher they are rated on likeability. The higher women are rated on skills, the lower they are rated on likeability. Neat, isn’t it?

Without the ability to consistently and accurately telegraph our thoughts and intentions to others, none of us can succeed—no individual, no team, and no organization. Communication is vital, but the great irony is that human beings have a surprisingly difficult time when it comes to knowing what exactly they are communicating. After you have read this book, you will understand better than ever why that’s the case—why communication is so very, very hard to get right. But you will also have a better understanding, perhaps for the first time, of what other people are actually seeing in

I built an idea in my head of the hero I wanted to be, a grab bag of traits from heroes, villains, and side characters. I did not have book role models, I had book blueprints. But there remained a huge gap between the person I wanted to be and the person who I was. This was because no matter how many book blueprints I had, as much as I wanted to make myself the hero of my own life, it didn’t matter as long as I kept telling the story wrong. Nowadays, as a storyteller, I know what the problem was. I had all the elements I needed to tell a good story. But I was telling it the wrong way, so I could never get to the ending I wanted. If you tell yourself you’re a winner, you know what kind of story you’re telling, and you will march toward that... Likewise, if you tell yourself you’re a loser, you’ve made that your story, and you will march toward that instead. The same setbacks could happen in the loser’s story as in the winner’s story, but the self-defined loser would let them be proof that they were never going to be anything. Here’s the story I was telling myself back when I was little edible child waiting to be carried away by hawks and making OCD rituals for herself: once upon a time, there was a girl who was afraid of everything. When I was 16, I realized that I knew what this story looked like and how it ended, and it wasn’t the life I wanted for myself. If I wanted my ending to look different, I needed to change the kind of story I was telling about myself. I needed to shape my events into a different genre: once upon a time, there was a woman who was afraid of nothing. At age 16, I legally changed my name from my birthname — Heidi — to one I thought sounded like the hero I wanted to be: Maggie. And I vowed that I would never be afraid of anything ever again. Did it work? No, of course not. Not right away. But it became a mission statement, my hero’s journey.

Have Peruvian Instant Dark Powder? or Have a Quick Quote Quill?

Would You Rather: Be stuck in a painting for 24 hours? or In a room with Dolores Umbridge for 24 hours?

See a matching pair of socks

I’ll come with you, Daddy,” said Heidi.

For everyone who dreams of something bigger and/or better. Even if that thing is a dick. If you can't find what you're seeking in real life, may it always be available in book form. And to anyone who has ever thought they wanted revenge, only to channel that energy into something way better. I see you.

When we got married, in the spring of 2007, the wedding had been as minimal as it was possible to make it. Linda’s maid of honour Helena, my best man Geir and his girlfriend Christina, Linda’s mother Ingrid and my mother Sissel. Five people attended our wedding in the town hall, lasting two minutes, plus Vanja and Heidi. An hour later only five people sat around the table we had booked in Västra Hammen and ate with us. No speeches, no dancing, no fuss. That was how I wanted it, I hated being the centre of attention, even with people I knew.

Thankfully, a much-needed letter from Bobby was waiting for me in the mailbox. Dear Heidi, Sorry everyone’s being so mean. Sometimes people get scared of what they don’t know, and then they do stupid things to pretend that they’re not scared. Kirk doesn’t deserve to go out with you, so don’t even think about him. Cathy isn’t a good friend either. I wish I could be there for you, but you know how it is. All I can say is maybe you can teach them what it’s like to be Donald. That might help, you know? And I hope you meet a friend who is cool enough to see how much fun Donald can be. I sure miss playing in the park with you guys. Take it easy, and write soon. Bobby I hugged the letter to my chest after reading it several times, grateful that we made a pact to write real letters instead of emails. You can’t hold and hug an email. I folded it up carefully and stuck it in a special pocket of my backpack so I’d be able to sneak a peek at it at school for some extra comfort.

Mikhail? Her voice startled him, low and warm and filled with feminine amusement. Try making suggestions next time, or just plain asking. You go do whatever it is you’re doing, and I’ll search your extensive library for a book on manners. He nearly forgot he was crouched at the base of a tree only a few hundred feet from the shack belonging to Hans and Heidi Romanov. Mikhail managed to suppress his urge to laugh. You will not find one. Why am I not surprised? This time Raven broke contact.

Try making suggestions next time, or just plain asking. You go do whatever it is you’re doing, and I’ll search your extensive library for a book on manners. He nearly forgot he was crouched at the base of a tree only a few hundred feet from the shack belonging to Hans and Heidi Romanov. Mikhail managed to suppress his urge to laugh. You will not find one. Why am I not surprised? This time Raven broke contact. For a brief moment he allowed himself the luxury of wrapping himself in her warmth, her laughter, her love. Why God had chosen this time, when Mikhail was in his darkest hour, to send him such a gift, he had no idea.

A MANUAL! I like manuals. Luckily for me, most things come with one. Your car came with a manual. So did your TV and your Crock-Pot. Last week, I actually bought an eyeliner manual. You know, because, really, I’m just making that up as I go too. When it comes to parenting, there are a lot of great books out there. But MomStrong moms are looking for more than advice—we’re looking for wisdom. And God tells us that the beginning of wisdom is found in knowing the Lord (see Psalm 111:10). The way we find out what

His mind reached out for Raven’s, craving the contact. What are you doing all alone in that spooky old house? Her soft laugher filled his utter coldness with warmth. Waiting for my big bad wolf to come home. Do you have your clothes on? This time her response sent fingers playing over his skin, touching him intimately, heating his body. Warmth, laughter. He hated being away from her, hated the distance separating them. Of course I have my clothes on! What if more unexpected visitors arrive? I can’t very well greet them naked, can I? She was teasing, but the thought of anyone approaching his home with her alone and unprotected made a sliver of fear slice through him. It was an unfamiliar emotion, and he almost couldn’t identify it. Mikhail? Are you all right? Do you need me? I’ll come to you. Stay there. Listen for the wolves. If they sing to you, call me right away. Do not wait. There was that brief hesitation that meant she was annoyed with his tone. I don’t want you to worry about me, Mikhail. You have enough people who make demands on you. Perhaps that is so, little one, but you are the only one I truly give a damn about. And drink another glass of juice. You will find some in the refrigerator. He broke contact, smiling at their brief exchange. She would have argued over the order for nourishment if he had waited long enough. He rather liked to irritate her sometimes. He liked the way her blue eyes deepened into sapphire, and how she got that little edge in her carefully controlled voice. Mikhail? Her voice startled him, low and warm and filled with feminine amusement. Try making suggestions next time, or just plain asking. You go do whatever it is you’re doing, and I’ll search your extensive library for a book on manners. He nearly forgot he was crouched at the base of a tree only a few hundred feet from the shack belonging to Hans and Heidi Romanov. Mikhail managed to suppress his urge to laugh. You will not find one. Why am I not surprised? This time Raven broke contact.

I was astonished at how wonderful these books were; and even though I was occasionally discomforted when someone, having asked me what book I had in my pocket, looked aghast when I pulled out a copy of Heidi or Finn Family Moomintroll, I soon realized that my then-present condition of "second childhood" was not one of senility and depression but of renewal and awakening.

I'm getting fatter by the moment." If you can relate to this expression, and the holidays are looming before you, than this book may be just what you've been looking for. From: Thanksgiving to Christmas Diet

For fun, we sometimes unofficially changed our names when we crossed country borders, with such variations as Jean-Pierre and Fifi (France), Hans and Heidi (Germany and Austria), Carlos and Carlotta (Spain), Sergio and Sophia (Italy), Dominic and Nehru (Romania), and Mary and Josepf (Poland). This helped us get in the spirit of each new country.

Save Lily? or Save Snape?