Insightful Christmas Quotes

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

This was not a good idea coming home for Christmas. I'm too old. Years ago, coming back from schools or trips, I always expected some sort of new perspective or fresh insight about the family on returning. That doesn't happen anymore-the days of revelation about my parents, at least, are over... its time to move on. I think we'd all appreciate that.

I write humor as it's pretty much the only thing keeping me out of an asylum.

The gift of the Sabbath must be treasured. Blessed are you who honour this day.

May the resurrection power of Christ, awake in us a greater spiritual force and strength, so that we can passionately pursue our God-given dreams.

As long as we keep loving, it will always be Christmas.

Daisy loved to read, having fueled her imagination with so many books that, were they laid end to end, would probably extend from one side of England to the other. She was charming, whimsical, fun-loving, but- and here was the odd thing about Daisy- she was also a solidly rational person, coming up with insights that were nearly always correct.

Where would we be without the success of our mothers?

My soul crave to walk with the Creator. My spirit sought to know the will of the Creator. My mind seek to mediate on the Holy words spoken by the Creator.

Christmas is Christ love for mankind.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” This saying, which is found in a broad variety of lands, does not arise from the brash worldly wisdom of an incorrigible. It instead reveals deep Christian insight.

I guess I have realized that we don’t live forever, and that the only time to do what we really want to do is now. This is the thing about a parent’s death—especially the second parent’s death— suddenly there is no other person standing between you and the great beyond, that darkness, the grave. I know I sound morbid, but it has been such an illuminating insight for me that I have to share it with you. Listen: the time is now. We are the next in line.

Izzy, love is complicated. In many ways it feels like a guessing game. All I’m saying is, don’t leave the game until all the pieces are in play and you know whether it’s worth trying to win.” Wow. That was actually insightful, even poetic. Maybe it was a line from a script he’d read. I had to stop thinking like that if we were going to become friends.

I once read the most widely understood word in the whole world is ‘OK’, followed by ‘Coke’, as in cola. I think they should do the survey again, this time checking for ‘Game Over’. Game Over is my favorite thing about playing video games. Actually, I should qualify that. It’s the split second before Game Over that’s my favorite thing. Streetfighter II - an oldie but goldie - with Leo controlling Ryu. Ryu’s his best character because he’s a good all-rounder - great defensive moves, pretty quick, and once he’s on an offensive roll, he’s unstoppable. Theo’s controlling Blanka. Blanka’s faster than Ryu, but he’s really only good on attack. The way to win with Blanka is to get in the other player’s face and just never let up. Flying kick, leg-sweep, spin attack, head-bite. Daze them into submission. Both players are down to the end of their energy bars. One more hit and they’re down, so they’re both being cagey. They’re hanging back at opposite ends of the screen, waiting for the other guy to make the first move. Leo takes the initiative. He sends off a fireball to force Theo into blocking, then jumps in with a flying kick to knock Blanka’s green head off. But as he’s moving through the air he hears a soft tapping. Theo’s tapping the punch button on his control pad. He’s charging up an electricity defense so when Ryu’s foot makes contact with Blanka’s head it’s going to be Ryu who gets KO’d with 10,000 volts charging through his system. This is the split second before Game Over. Leo’s heard the noise. He knows he’s fucked. He has time to blurt ‘I’m toast’ before Ryu is lit up and thrown backwards across the screen, flashing like a Christmas tree, a charred skeleton. Toast. The split second is the moment you comprehend you’re just about to die. Different people react to it in different ways. Some swear and rage. Some sigh or gasp. Some scream. I’ve heard a lot of screams over the twelve years I’ve been addicted to video games. I’m sure that this moment provides a rare insight into the way people react just before they really do die. The game taps into something pure and beyond affectations. As Leo hears the tapping he blurts, ‘I’m toast.’ He says it quickly, with resignation and understanding. If he were driving down the M1 and saw a car spinning into his path I think he’d in react the same way. Personally, I’m a rager. I fling my joypad across the floor, eyes clenched shut, head thrown back, a torrent of abuse pouring from my lips. A couple of years ago I had a game called Alien 3. It had a great feature. When you ran out of lives you’d get a photo-realistic picture of the Alien with saliva dripping from its jaws, and a digitized voice would bleat, ‘Game over, man!’ I really used to love that.

We often fail to consider accurate information that could potentially provide insight into another person's point of view (such as his or her facial expressions) but happily consider inaccurate information (such s broad stereotypes or gossip). For example, when evaluating preferences of people we perceive as similar to us, we tend to use ourselves as reference points. But when we perceive others as less similar, we are more likely to resort to stereotypes to assess their preferences. Once we consider how this dynamic might play out in gift-giving scenarios, it becomes clear why Grandpa ended up with twenty-three pairs of woolen socks for Christmas but without the Kindle he'd been hinting at since Thanksgiving.

Wild animals enjoying one another and taking pleasure in their world is so immediate and so real, yet this reality is utterly absent from textbooks and academic papers about animals and ecology. There is a truth revealed here, absurd in its simplicity. This insight is not that science is wrong or bad. On the contrary: science, done well, deepens our intimacy with the world. But there is a danger in an exclusively scientific way of thinking. The forest is turned into a diagram; animals become mere mechanisms; nature's workings become clever graphs. Today's conviviality of squirrels seems a refutation of such narrowness. Nature is not a machine. These animals feel. They are alive; they are our cousins, with the shared experience kinship implies. And they appear to enjoy the sun, a phenomenon that occurs nowhere in the curriculum of modern biology. Sadly, modern science is too often unable or unwilling to visualize or feel what others experience. Certainly science's "objective" gambit can be helpful in understanding parts of nature and in freeing us from some cultural preconceptions. Our modern scientific taste for dispassion when analyzing animal behaviour formed in reaction to the Victorian naturalists and their predecessors who saw all nature as an allegory confirming their cultural values. But a gambit is just an opening move, not a coherent vision of the whole game. Science's objectivity sheds some assumptions but takes on others that, dressed up in academic rigor, can produce hubris and callousness about the world. The danger comes when we confuse the limited scope of our scientific methods with the true scope of the world. It may be useful or expedient to describe nature as a flow diagram or an animal as a machine, but such utility should not be confused with a confirmation that our limited assumptions reflect the shape of the world. Not coincidentally, the hubris of narrowly applied science serves the needs of the industrial economy. Machines are bought, sold, and discarded; joyful cousins are not. Two days ago, on Christmas Eve, the U.S. Forest Service opened to commercial logging three hundred thousand acres of old growth in the Tongass National Forest, more than a billion square-meter mandalas. Arrows moved on a flowchart, graphs of quantified timber shifted. Modern forest science integrated seamlessly with global commodity markets—language and values needed no translation. Scientific models and metaphors of machines are helpful but limited. They cannot tell us all that we need to know. What lies beyond the theories we impose on nature? This year I have tried to put down scientific tools and to listen: to come to nature without a hypothesis, without a scheme for data extraction, without a lesson plan to convey answers to students, without machines or probes. I have glimpsed how rich science is but simultaneously how limited in scope and in spirit. It is unfortunate that the practice of listening generally has no place in the formal training of scientists. In this absence science needlessly fails. We are poorer for this, and possibly more hurtful. What Christmas Eve gifts might a listening culture give its forests? What was the insight that brushed past me as the squirrels basked? It was not to turn away from science. My experience of animals is richer for knowing their stories, and science is a powerful way to deepen this understanding. Rather, I realized that all stories are partly wrapped in fiction—the fiction of simplifying assumptions, of cultural myopia and of storytellers' pride. I learned to revel in the stories but not to mistake them for the bright, ineffable nature of the world.

I wanted to be alone.” “I see.” Except she didn’t, exactly. When had this child become a mystery to her own mother? “Why?” Sophie glanced at herself in the mirror, and Esther could only hope her daughter saw the truth: a lovely, poised woman—intelligent, caring, well dowered, and deserving of more than a stolen interlude with a convenient stranger and an inconvenient baby—Sophie’s brothers’ assurances notwithstanding. “I am lonely, that’s why.” Sophie’s posture relaxed with this pronouncement, but Esther’s consternation only increased. “How can you be lonely when you’re surrounded by loving family, for pity’s sake? Your father and I, your sisters, your brothers, even Uncle Tony and your cousins—we’re your family, Sophia.” She nodded, a sad smile playing around her lips that to Esther’s eyes made her daughter look positively beautiful. “You’re the family I was born with, and I love you too, but I’m still lonely, Your Grace. I’ve wished and wished for my own family, for children of my own, for a husband, not just a marital partner…” “You had many offers.” Esther spoke gently, because in Sophie’s words, in her calm, in her use of the present tense—“I am lonely”—there was an insight to be had. “Those offers weren’t from the right man.” “Was Baron Sindal the right man?” It was a chance arrow, but a woman who had raised ten children owned a store of maternal instinct. Sophie’s chin dropped, and she sighed. “I thought he was the right man, but it wasn’t the right offer, or perhaps it was, but I couldn’t hear it as such. And then there was the baby… It wouldn’t be the right marriage.” Esther took her courage in both hands and advanced on her daughter—her sensible daughter—and slipped an arm around Sophie’s waist. “Tell me about this baby. I’ve heard all manner of rumors about him, but you’ve said not one word.” She meant to walk Sophie over to the vanity, so she might drape Oma’s pearls around Sophie’s neck, but Sophie closed her eyes and stiffened. “He’s a good baby. He’s a wonderful baby, and I sent him away. Oh, Mama, I sent my baby away…” And then, for the first time in years, sensible Lady Sophia Windham cried on her mother’s shoulder as if she herself were once again a little, inconsolable baby. ***

Dylan Caine came over last night and worked with me to strip the walls.” Her stomach tingled again as she remembered that kiss that had happened right about where her mother stood. Laura frowned. “Which Caine brother is that? There are dozens of them.” “Only six, Mother. He’s the youngest son.” Laura looked baffled for a moment, trying to put the pieces together, and then her eyes widened. “Dylan. He’s the one who lives up in Snowflake Canyon. The one who lost his arm.” “Yes,” she said calmly. “That’s the one.” Laura stared at her. “Why would you have him help you? What can he even do without an arm?” Kiss her until she couldn’t remember her name, for one thing. He had amazing skills in that direction, but she was quite certain her mother wouldn’t appreciate that particular insight.

Sometimes the best way to relax, unwind, and get everything straightened out... is to curl up with a good book. – Douglas Pagels, from 100 Things to Always Remember and One Thing to Never Forget Give something of yourself to the day... even if it’s just a smile to someone walking the other way. – Douglas Pagels, from 100 Things to Always Remember and One Thing to Never Forget Even if you can’t just snap your fingers and make a dream come true, you can travel in the direction of your dream, every single day, and you can keep shortening the distance between the two of you. – Douglas Pagels, from 100 Things to Always Remember and One Thing to Never Forget Rest assured that, whenever you need them, your guardian angels are great about working overtime. – Douglas Pagels, from A Special Christmas Blessing Just for You Never forget what a treasure you are. That special person in the mirror may not always get to hear all the compliments you so sweetly deserve, but you are so worthy of such an abundance... of friendship, joy, and love. – Douglas Pagels, from You Are One Amazing Lady I love that I get to wake up every morning in a world that has people like you in it. – Douglas Pagels, from You Are One Amazing Lady Be someone who doesn’t make your guardian angel work too hard or worry too much. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Each day is a blank page in the diary of your life. Every day, you’re given a chance to determine what the words will say and how the story will unfold. The more rewarding you can make each page, the more amazing the entire book will be. And I would love for you to write a masterpiece. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Practice your tree pose. I want you to have a goal of finding a way to bring everything in your life into balance. Let the roots of all your dreams go deep. Let the hopes of all your tomorrows grow high. Bend, but don’t break. Take the seasons as they come. Stick up for yourself. And reach for the sky. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Remember that a new morning is good medicine... and one of the joys of life is realizing that you have the ability to make this a really great day. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Find comfort in knowing that “rising above” is something you can always find a way to do. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Look up “onward” in the thesaurus and utilize every one of those synonyms whenever you’re wondering which direction to go in. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Don’t judge yourself – love yourself. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! If you have a choice between a la-di-da life and an ooh-la-la! one, well... you know what to do. Choose the one that requires you to dust off your dancing shoes. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life! Write out your own definition of success. Fill it with a mix of stardust and wishes and down-to-earth things, and provide all the insight you can give it. Imagine what it takes to have a really happy, rewarding life. And then go out... and live it. – Douglas Pagels, from Wishing You a Happy, Successful, Incredible Life!

My family and I really enjoyed this book. We loved the characters and the illustrations in the book. It gives great insight to what those first days of school can be like. It's just a very fun and entertaining book to read. I recommend this book to all families it will not disappoint.

is clear how such a man would feel when news reached him that a child was born who was destined to be king. Herod was troubled, and Jerusalem was troubled, too, for Jerusalem knew well the steps that Herod would take to pin down this story and to eliminate this child. Jerusalem knew Herod, and Jerusalem shivered as it waited for his inevitable reaction. Herod summoned the chief priests and the scribes. The scribes were the experts in Scripture and in the law. The chief priests consisted of two kinds of people. They consisted of ex-high priests. The high priesthood was confined to a very few families. They were the priestly aristocracy, and the members of these select families were called the chief priests.

We reveal ourselves in the stories we tell.

I never really felt Jo was right for Alex. She only wanted to go out with him because he was student body president.” You are so full of it, I thought. Images of red and white Christmas candy canes danced through my brain. I seized them and snapped their little striped necks. I flipped through my notebook, pretending to look for previously recorded information. “I understand he asked her to the prom.” “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Khandi said with a sniff. “But I’ll tell you this.” She leaned forward as if about to impart a great secret. “If Alex did ask her, it was because he felt sorry for her. But it totally backfired on him. I think that’s why Jo’s ghost is still here. She just can’t bear to let Alex go. Even she knows she’s a nobody without him.” Nobly, I resisted the impulse to stuff my notebook down her throat. “That’s an…interesting insight,” I said. “Oh, well,” Khandi said, sitting back and preening ever so slightly. “All the women in my family are like that.” “They know things and they have insights. Fascinating combination.

I beg you to tell me that your esteemed wife has not shared her insights with anyone else.” “Of course not, but we’re both mystified that you’re holding back. Miss Easton is clearly still available. Not only has she been out for several Seasons, she’s cried off from two engagements with two exceedingly eligible suitors. The field would thus appear to be wide open. And, Nigel, it’s long past time you got married,” Silverton added with the annoying complacency of a happily married man. “You’re thirty-four already.” “Not until next month. And may I remind you that you were the same advanced age when you married Meredith.” “I was simply waiting for the right woman.” “Well, so am I,” Nigel retorted. “Don’t hold out too long, old man.” As the orchestra struck up a waltz, Silverton’s aristocratic features grew thoughtful. “Besides, I think you have found the right girl. Miss Easton’s temperament would suit yours quite well, I believe.” Nigel

Right. I am here because I want to spend whatever time I can around Genevieve Windham, even if it’s only a few weeks amid paint fumes and under her parents’ watchful eyes. I am here to share with her whatever support and insight I might render regarding her art before she leaves for damned France. I am here”—he brushed his nose along the top of the cat’s head—“because I could not resist the opportunity to see her, to kiss her, even once more.” The cat appeared to consider this, then bopped Elijah’s chin. “I am here because I am a fool.” A

This is part of being married?” Joseph’s hand stroked slowly over her hair, and Louisa thought for a moment he hadn’t heard the question—or maybe she hadn’t spoken aloud. “It is part of you being married to me.” There was an implication in his words Louisa was too scattered to parse. Insights—into old passages of verse, into her siblings’ marital devotion, into her own parents’—floated in the haze that passed for her thoughts. “Can one do this repeatedly? Successively? Nine times in a row?” “One can if she’s female and has some time on her hands. We fellows would find ourselves challenged to keep that sort of pace—though the attempt would certainly be pleasurable in the right company.” His tone suggested Louisa was the right company for him, which did nothing to restore her composure. “Why doesn’t anybody tell a young lady about these things?” “Young men all over England are whispering to their sweethearts about things like this. Perhaps the old fellows are too, if they’re lucky.

Amidst such Soulful exploration each passage - is given new meaning, wisdom & insight.

Let each Soulful insight, encourage you to - joyfully partake of Christmas in your own way.

The Princess was anxious that her sons should also see something of the real world beyond boarding schools and palaces. As she said in a speech on Aids: ‘I am only too aware of the temptation of avoiding harsh reality; not just for myself but for my own children too. Am I doing them a favour if I hide suffering and unpleasantness from them until the last possible minute? The last minutes which I choose for them may be too late. I can only face them with a choice based on what I know. The rest is up to them.’ She felt this was especially important for William, the future King. As she once said: ‘Through learning what I do, and his father to a certain extent, he has got an insight into what’s coming his way. He’s not hidden upstairs with the governess.’ Over the years she has taken both boys on visits to hostels for the homeless and to see seriously ill people in hospital. When she took William on a secret visit to the Passage day centre for the homeless in Central London, accompanied by Cardinal Basil Hume, her pride was evident as she introduced him to what many would consider the flotsam and jetsam of society. ‘He loves it and that really rattles people,’ she proudly told friends. The Catholic Primate of All England was equally effusive. ‘What an extraordinary child,’ he told her. ‘He has such dignity at such a young age.’ This upbringing helped William cope when a group of mentally handicapped children joined fellow school pupils for a Christmas party. Diana watched with delight as the future King gallantly helped these deprived youngsters join in the fun. ‘I was so thrilled and proud. A lot of adults couldn’t handle it,’ she told friends. Again during one Ascot week, a time of Champagne, smoked salmon and fashionable frivolity for High society, the Princess took her boys to the Refuge night shelter for down-and-outs. William played chess while Harry joined in a card school. Two hours later the boys were on their way back to Kensington Palace, a little older and a little wiser. ‘They have a knowledge,’ she once said. ‘They may never use it, but the seed is there, and I hope it will grow because knowledge is power. I want them to have an understanding of people’s emotions, people’s insecurities, people’s distress and people’s hopes and dreams.’ Her quiet endeavors gradually won back many of the doubters who had come to see her as a threat to the monarchy, or as a talentless and embittered woman seeking to make trouble, especially by upstaging or embarrassing her husband and his family. The sight of the woman who was still then technically the future Queen, unadorned and virtually unaccompanied, mixing with society’s poorest and most distressed or most threatened, confounded many of her critics.

When they’d filled the peppers and they were laid out in nice, neat, bacon-wrapped lines, she slid them into the oven. Then they went into the sitting room. David sat down next to Leah on the settee. “Now, we can’t fall asleep, waiting for them to finish cooking,” he said. Famous. Last. Words. They chatted for a moment about how melted cheese was probably the best invention on the planet, but it descended into quiet as their lids dropped and she wondered why she couldn’t think of anything more insightful to say. It had felt like only seconds that she rested her eyes, but Leah and David jumped to a start, the fire alarm beeping in the kitchen. The both looked at each other, their eyes big with surprise. “Oh no!” he laughed. They ran into the kitchen, David throwing on one of Nan’s oven mitts and yanking the smoking, sizzling peppers out of the oven. Leah opened the windows and the back door, but it seemed to let more cold air in than smoke out. She fanned the air, while David took the peppers outside and set them on the brick walkway. As they both stood in the freezing kitchen, the smoke billowing around the ceiling, they broke into laughter. “Maybe we should’ve just had the marshmallows,” he said. Leah rolled under the duvet to view the time, the gray morning barely giving her enough light to focus. It was still early—six o’clock. She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow, the feel of the linens so familiar and comfortable that, at first, she’d almost forgotten about her troubles. This was the bed she’d slept in when she needed the security of family, and a retreat to ease her mind.

fundamental difference in approach can make the short stories of Stella Gibbons seem somewhat obvious in their tone. And yet this is misleading: these stories are not obvious at all; they simply adhere to a storytelling convention that has been lost sight of in our quest for greater depth of characterization and psychological insight.

Gary asked me to consider what happens when any of us - no matter what age we are - go home to visit our parents at Christmas. It doesn't matter how wise and insightful adult life has made us. "Two days with your parents at Christmas and you'll all just be swatted back to the deepest level of the family pathology.

Chiti, who was that rarest of things: a truly great listener. Who remembered the names of her sisters' friends and lovers and asked after them the next time they met, who made every conversation feel like a house of cards you were building together that never fell down. Chiti said things like I was thinking about what you said last time about trust... and then would deliver some totally brilliant insight while giving the other person credit. She gave beautiful Christmas presents that somehow captured both who the recipient was and who they wanted to be.

ELEVATION: A love letter. A ticket stub. A well-worn T-shirt. Haphazardly colored cards from your kids that make you smile with delight. INSIGHT: Quotes or articles that moved you. Books that changed your view of the world. Diaries that captured your thoughts. PRIDE: Ribbons, report cards, notes of recognition, certificates, thank-yous, awards. (It just hurts, irrationally, to throw away a trophy.) CONNECTION: Wedding photos. Vacation photos. Family photos. Christmas photos of hideous sweaters. Lots of photos. Probably the first thing you’d grab if your house caught on fire.

What we forget is that the past is not a place to live. Rather, it is the place that gives us what we need to live more robustly in a present that will become an even more magical past if we let it be so.

Unto us Saviour is born at Christmas. The love and light of the World.

Christ birth is the beginning of love for mankind.

May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, The foresight to know where you are going, And the insight to know when you have gone too far. ​— ​IRISH BLESSING

Christmas is about bread. It’s hidden in plain sight on the first pages of the New Testament. Think about bread through these three words: Jesus, Bethlehem, Manger. Say them aloud with me. Jesus. Bethlehem. Manger. As we will see, all three words are related to bread, and connecting the dots will deepen your understanding of the Christmas story. First, consider the name Jesus. In John’s gospel, Jesus disclosed his identity through seven “I am” statements. One of the seven ways Jesus referred to himself was as Bread. To his disciples he said, “I am the Bread of Life. Those who feast on him will not go hungry.” Hold on to that idea. Next, consider the town of Bethlehem. In Hebrew, Bethlehem is a compound word, which simply means the word can be broken down into two separate words. Bethlehem = “Beit-lehem.” “Beit” means house. “Lechem” means bread. Bethlehem therefore means “House of Bread”. Hold on to that idea as well. Finally, consider the word Manger. Mangers are not wooden beds filled with pillows in the form of hay. A manger in the time of Jesus was cut from stone and served as a trough to hold feed for animals. In the cold winter months, animals, and mangers were sometimes placed within the front section of a home. … When we put the puzzle pieces together, we see that the New Testament is telling a story about the arrival of a man named Jesus (the Bread of Life) who is born in a town called Bethlehem (the House of Bread) and immediately placed in a manger (a feeding trough). So the Bread of Life was born in the House of Bread and placed in a feeding trough to satisfy the hunger of every human heart. That is the meaning of Christmas and we must never settle for less. We don’t need new stories from Hollywood on Christmas Day. Instead, we must reclaim the ancient depth and wonder of the Jesus Story. Christ our Savior is the Bread of Life. Let us keep the feast.

May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going, and the insight to know when you have gone too far’ Irish proverb

Chiti, who was the rarest of things: a truly great listener. Who remembered the names of her sisters' friends and lovers and asked after them the next time they met, who made every conversation feel like a house of cards you were building together that never fell down. Chili said things like "I was thinking about what you said last time about trust..." and then would deliver some totally brilliant insight while giving the other person credit. She gave beautiful Christmas presents that somehow captured both who the recipient was and who they wanted to be.