Jacqueline Kennedy Quotes

Once you can express yourself, you can tell the world what you want from it. . . All the changes in the world, for good or evil, were first brought about by words.

I am a woman above everything else.

There are many little ways to enlarge your child's world. Love of books is the best of all.

One must not let oneself be overwhelmed by sadness.

If you cut people off from what nourishes them spiritually, something in them dies.

I want to live my life, not record it.

There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all

I love the Autumn, And yet I cannot say All the thoughts and things That make me feel this way. I love walking on the angry shore, To watch the angry sea; Where summer people were before, But now there's only me. I love wood fires at night That have a ruddy glow. I stare at the flames And think of long ago. I love the feeling down inside me That says to run away To come and be a gypsy And laugh the gypsy way. The tangy taste of apples, The snowy mist at morn, The wanderlust inside you When you hear the huntsman's horn. Nostalgia - that's the Autumn, Dreaming through September Just a million lovely things I always will remember.

If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much

There are two kinds of women, those who want power in the world and those who want power in bed.

He didn’t even have the satisfaction of being killed for civil rights... it had to be some silly little Communist.

Once you can express yourself, you can tell the world what you want from it.

You have to have been a Republican to know how good it is to be a Democrat.

On a potential husband, "All I ask is someone with a little imagination, but they are hard to find.

Do you think that God would separate me from my husband if I killed myself? I feel as though I am going out of my mind at times. Wouldn’t God understand that I just want to be with him?

Our culture will become like it was during the medieval times when there truly was a cultural elite. The rest of the people will just watch television, which will be their only frame of reference.

There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all.

Every moment one lives is different from the other. The good, the bad, hardship, the joy, the tragedy, love, and happiness are all interwoven into one single, indescribable whole that is called life. You cannot separate the good from the bad. And perhaps there is no need to do so, either.

Even though people may be well known, they hold in their hearts the emotions of a simple person for the moments that are the most important of those we know on earth: birth, marriage and death.

if you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much.

If you mess up your children, nothing else you do really matters

There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all.

Think carefully about whom you model yourself after, because that’s how your date—and the world will see you. And it is how you will come to see yourself. Who you are as a girlfriend is a harbinger of who you will be as a wife. Consider comporting yourself with the dignity, grace, and elegance of Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, or Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. These were women of outstanding character, beloved by all and desired by men of substance.

For as much as Hillary Clinton might hate admitting this about Monica Lewinisky, Eleanor Roosevelt about Missy Le Hand, Queen Alexandra about Lillie Langtry, Lady Nelson about Emma Hamilton, or Jackie about Marilyn, the reality is that despite their intrinsic animosity toward each other, on a a deep level, the wife and the mistress generally have far more in common than they might care to admit and could, had fate dealt them different cards, even been true friends.

If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much.

If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much." — Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis

There are many little ways to enlarge your child's world. Love of (good) books is the best of all.

With that solitude came the greatest luxuries: the time to read, the opportunity to wander, and the chance to think new thoughts.

Beauvoir was untouched by the criticisms; her diary was a record of one consciousness, her own: "This is what I saw and how I saw it. I have not tried to say more.

once you can express yourself, you can tell the world what you want from it... all the changes, good or evil, were first brought about by words.

The Bouviers and the Lees alike operated within the great American tradition of immigrant ambition, which held that in making yourself anew, you had the right to embellish the past.

I mention Jackie mostly because I want to be assured that I inhabit the same universe as other people; that I am not alone on a distant shore. Jackie glues me to this world—most effectively when I can find a way to mention her name or her attributes, when I can find a pretext, however frail, to introduce her into a conversation, even at the risk of non sequitur, bathos, or incoherence.

Jackie’s work during this period on behalf of the landmarks preservation movement. At various times, she spoke with poignance of Manhattan monuments disappearing, of patches of sky being snatched away, of a cityscape that was dying “by degrees.” Pressed to explain why she had become involved in the fight to save the ornate Beaux Arts–style Grand Central Station, whose bankrupt owners hoped to raise money by allowing a fifty-five-story commercial tower to be built above it, Jackie said: “It’s a beautiful building that I’m used to seeing.

My birth certificate says: Female Negro Mother: Mary Anne Irby, 22, Negro Father: Jack Austin Woodson, 25, Negro In Birmingham, Alabama, Martin Luther King Jr. is planning a march on Washington, where John F. Kennedy is president. In Harlem, Malcolm X is standing on a soapbox talking about a revolution. Outside the window of University Hospital, snow is slowly falling. So much already covers this vast Ohio ground. In Montgomery, only seven years have passed since Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus. I am born brown-skinned, black-haired and wide-eyed. I am born Negro here and Colored there and somewhere else, the Freedom Singers have linked arms, their protests rising into song: Deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday. and somewhere else, James Baldwin is writing about injustice, each novel, each essay, changing the world. I do not yet know who I’ll be what I’ll say how I’ll say it . . . Not even three years have passed since a brown girl named Ruby Bridges walked into an all-white school. Armed guards surrounded her while hundreds of white people spat and called her names. She was six years old. I do not know if I’ll be strong like Ruby. I do not know what the world will look like when I am finally able to walk, speak, write . . . Another Buckeye! the nurse says to my mother. Already, I am being named for this place. Ohio. The Buckeye State. My fingers curl into fists, automatically This is the way, my mother said, of every baby’s hand. I do not know if these hands will become Malcolm’s—raised and fisted or Martin’s—open and asking or James’s—curled around a pen. I do not know if these hands will be Rosa’s or Ruby’s gently gloved and fiercely folded calmly in a lap, on a desk, around a book, ready to change the world . . .

a person once said.... there comes a time in life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. you surround yourself with people who make you laugh, forget the bad that cause grief and shame, and focus on the good that make you proud. so love the people who treat you right, pray for those that don't. lifes to short to be anything but happy. falling down is a part of life, getting back up is living.

There are many little ways to enlarge your world. Love of books is the best of all.

you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do well matters very much.” ~ Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy  

The last fire in the drawer was 1890. It was the year Edward painted Across the Delaware (acquired in 1961 by Jacqueline Kennedy and now hanging in the White House foyer), the year he married Diana (April), and the year he nearly made her a widow on their extended honeymoon (May) when he overestimated the water temperature at the cliffs in Brontallo, Switzerland, and had to be pulled, nearly unconscious and hyppthermic, from the water by a pair of passing Norwegian tourists in a rowboat.

Is it not cruel to let our city die by degrees, stripped of all her proud monuments, until there will be nothing left of all her history and beauty to inspire our children? If they are not inspired by the past of our city, where will they find the strength to fight for her future?

She was a little removed,” Jack said as an adult. In private, he complained that Rose never told him that she loved him. Jack’s friend Charles Spalding, who saw the family up close, described Rose as “so cold, so distant from the whole thing . . . I doubt if she ever rumpled the kid’s hair in his whole life. . . . It just didn’t exist: the business of letting your son know you’re close, that she’s there. She wasn’t.” Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy told the journalist Theodore White that “history made him [Jack] what he was . . . this lonely sick boy. His mother really didn’t love him. . . . She likes to go around talking about being the daughter of the Mayor of Boston, or how she was an ambassador’s wife. . . . She didn’t love him. . . . History made him what he was.

Così Stefano aveva continuato col suo lavoro senza difendere l’onore della sua promessa sposa, Lila aveva continuato con la sua vita di fidanzata senza ricorrere al trincetto o ad altro, i Solara avevano continuato a diffondere oscenità. La lasciai, ero stupefatta. Cosa stava accadendo? Non capivo. Mi sembrava più chiaro il comportamento dei Solara, mi sembrava coerente con il mondo che conoscevamo fin da bambini. Lei e Stefano invece cosa avevano in mente, dove pensavano di vivere? Si comportavano in un modo che non si trovava nemmeno nei poemi che studiavo a scuola, nei romanzi che leggevo. Ero perplessa. Non reagivano alle offese, anche a quella veramente insopportabile che gli stavano facendo i Solara. Sfoggiavano gentilezza e cortesia con tutti, come se fossero John e Jacqueline Kennedy in visita a un quartiere di pezzenti. Quando uscivano a passeggio insieme, con lui che le teneva un braccio intorno alle spalle, sembrava che nessuna delle vecchie regole valesse per loro: ridevano, scherzavano, si stringevano, si baciavano sulle labbra. Li vedevo sfrecciare nella decappottabile, da soli anche la sera, sempre vestiti come attori del cinema, e pensavo: se ne vanno chissà dove senza sorveglianza, e non di nascosto ma col consenso dei genitori, col consenso di Rino, a fare le cose loro senza dar peso a ciò che dice la gente. Era Lila a piegare Stefano a quei comportamenti che ne stavano facendo la coppia più ammirata e più chiacchierata del rione? Era quella l’ultima novità che s’era inventata? Voleva uscire dal rione restando nel rione? Voleva trascinarci fuori da noi stessi, strapparci la vecchia pelle e imporcene una nuova, adeguata a quella che si stava fabbricando lei?

Tuesday. When five o’clock Tuesday evening comes, I approach the apartment, carrying two large pizzas—a cheese pizza with only cheese, like Madison requested, the other a monstrosity made with ham and pineapple. Hesitantly, I knock, hearing a flurry of footsteps inside before the door yanks open, the little ball of energy in front of me, grinning. “Madison Jacqueline!” Kennedy shouts, popping up in my line of sight. “What did I say about answering the door like that?” “Oh.” Her eyes widen, and before I can say a word, she swings the door shut, slamming it in my face. I stand here for a moment before the door cracks open again, her head peeking out as she whispers, “You gots to knock.” As soon as it shuts again, I tap on the door. “Who’s there?” she yells. “Jonathan.” “Jonathan who?” I laugh, shifting the pizzas around when they start slipping from my grip. Before I can answer, the door opens once more, Kennedy standing there. “Sorry,” she mumbles, motioning for me to come in as she grasps Madison by the shoulders, steering her along. “We’re working on this stranger danger thing. She’s way too trusting.” “But I know it was him,” Madison protests. “You can never be too sure,” Kennedy says. “It’s always best to double-check.” I open my mouth to offer an opinion but stop myself, not sure if I’m at that place where my advice is welcome. I’m not trying to get kicked out before even eating any pizza

A drunk needs a reason to get sober,

It’s funny, isn’t it?” she later remarked, “all the compliments and nice things in the world can be said to you but if you didn’t hear them as a child—or even thought you didn’t hear them—then you just never believe them.

people just are who they are,

Many Americans wonder why Robert Kennedy took no action against Lyndon Johnson if he suspected the vice president’s complicity in the murder of his brother. In fact, we now know that Johnson was concerned that Robert Kennedy would object to his immediate ascendancy to the presidency. The very fact that Johnson would worry about something so constitutionally preordained virtually proved Johnson’s fear that Kennedy would see through his role in the murder. I now believe that Johnson’s call to Robert Kennedy to obtain the wording of the presidential oath was an act of obsequiousness to test Kennedy as well as an opportunity to twist the knife in Johnson’s bitter rival. We now know that the “oath” aboard Air Force One was purely symbolic; the US Constitution elevates the vice president to the presidency automatically upon the death of the president. Johnson’s carefully arranged ceremony in which he insisted that Jackie Kennedy be present was to put his imprimatur and that of the Kennedys, on his presidency. Additionally, Judge Sarah T. Hughes, who administered the oath, had recently been blocked from elevation on the federal bench by Attorney General Robert Kennedy. This impediment would be removed under President Lyndon Johnson. Robert Kennedy knew his brother was murdered by a domestic conspiracy and, at a minimum, suspected that Lyndon Johnson was complicit. Kennedy would tell his aide Richard Goodwin, “there’s nothing I can do about it. Not now.”86 In essence, Kennedy understood that with both the FBI and the Justice Department under the control of Lyndon Johnson and Kennedy nemesis J. Edgar Hoover, there was, indeed, nothing he could do immediately. While numerous biographers describe RFK as being shattered by the murder of his brother, Robert Kennedy was not so bereaved that it prevented him from seeking to maneuver his way onto the 1964 ticket as vice president. Indeed, RFK had Jackie Kennedy call Johnson to lobby for Bobby’s selection. Johnson declined, far too cunning to put Bobby in the exact position that he had maneuvered John Kennedy into three years previous. Robert Kennedy knew that only by becoming president could he avenge his brother’s death. After lukewarm endorsements of the Warren Commission’s conclusions between 1963 and 1968, while campaigning in the California primary, RFK would be asked about his brother’s murder. In the morning, he mumbled half-hearted support for the Warren Commission conclusions but asked the same question that afternoon he would tell a student audience in Northern California that if elected he would reopen the investigation into his brother’s murder. Kennedy’s highly regarded press secretary Frank Mankiewicz would say he was “shocked” by RFK’s comment because he had never said anything like it publicly before. Mankiewicz and Robert Kennedy aide Adam Walinsky would ultimately conclude that JFK had been murdered by a conspiracy, but to my knowledge, neither understood the full involvement of LBJ. Only days after Robert Kennedy said he would release all the records of the Kennedy assassination, the New York Senator would be killed in an assassination eerily similar to his brother’s, in which there are disputes, even today, about the number of shooters and the number of shots. The morning after Robert Kennedy was murdered a distraught Jacqueline Kennedy called close friend New York socialite Carter Burden, and said “They got Bobby, too,” leaving little doubt that she recognized that the same people who killed her husband also killed her brother in law.87

Because of my father, I was used to infidelities, but Jack’s womanizing hurt me greatly.” —Jacqueline Kennedy

(It was Malraux, who guided her through the Louvre in 1961, who would order the cleaning of the buildings. When he first articulated the plan, one of his colleagues quipped: wouldn’t it be cheaper to blacken the Sacré-Coeur?)

Even in death, there can be beauty and hope, if only we dare to look hard enough.

There are many little ways to enlarge your child’s world. Love of books is the best of all.” ― Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

There are many little ways to enlarge your world. Love of books is the best of all.

If you bungle raising children, I don't think whatever else you do matters very much.

Don’t send me anything! You just come over and put your arm around me. That’s all you do. When you haven’t got anythin’ else to do, let’s take a walk. Let’s walk around the backyard. And let me tell you how much you mean to all of us and how we can carry on if you give us a little strength.

Notably, it was not her fabled tenure as first lady, not the conquest of Paris or the myriad other triumphs of the White House years, not her demeanor at President Kennedy’s funeral and what it had meant to so many Americans, that Jackie spoke of when she replied without hesitation: “I think it is that after going through a rather difficult time, I consider myself comparatively sane. I am proud of that.

Many have questioned how Lyndon Johnson could have put his closest protégé and right hand man John Connally in mortal danger by having him ride with JFK in the presidential limousine in the Dallas motorcade . Indeed, Johnson maneuvered desperately to get Connally moved to the vice-presidential car and substitute his archenemy Yarborough in the presidential vehicle. Senator George Smathers said in his memoirs that JFK complained to him prior to the trip about an effort by LBJ to get first lady Jacqueline Kennedy to ride in the vice presidential car, an idea JFK flatly rejected.39 Shortly before Kennedy’s death in the motorcade LBJ would visit the president’s hotel room and try again to convince him to have Connally and Yarborough swap places. Again, JFK refused, and Johnson stormed from the room after a shouting match.40 The outburst was so loud that first lady Jacqueline Kennedy expressed to her husband that Johnson “sounded mad.”41 Perhaps this explains LBJ’s taciturn behavior from the moment the presidential motorcade left Love Field for Dealey Plaza. An earlier rain had subsided, giving way to sunny skies. The crowds were large and friendly, yet LBJ stared straight ahead and never cracked a smile or waved to the crowds as did Lady Bird, Senator Yarborough, the Connallys, and the Kennedys. LBJ would actually tell Robert Kennedy, “of all things in life, this [campaigning] is what I enjoy most.”42 Normally, the gregarious Johnson would wave his hat, pose and wave to the crowd and shout “howdy,” but on this day he seemed non-expressive and focused. New 3-D imaging analysis and more sophisticated photographic analysis now show without question that LBJ ducked to the floor of his limousine before the first shots were fired.43

If we lost everything except for the clothes we stood up in, would we turn to each other and think....How lucky we really were?

He did not appreciate the fact that his own fishing trip to Florida, coinciding with his wife giving premature birth, was splattered all over the front pages while Kennedy’s tryst with girls on friend George Smathers’s boat in Florida, while Jacqueline Kennedy was giving well-planned birth, was treated like a national secret by his media protectors.

Famous INFPs include Isabel Myers (creator of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator), St. John the disciple, Carl Rogers, Princess Diana, George Orwell, Audrey Hepburn, Fred Rogers, A.A. Milne, Helen Keller, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Julia Roberts, and William Shakespeare.

Later that year Sputnik 5 flew two dogs, Belka and Strelka, to space and, happily for them, returned them alive. After a period as a celebrity, Strelka retired from public life and had six puppies, one of them named Pushinka (Fluffy). Khrushchev remembered that during a conversation in 1961 with US First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy she had asked after Strelka. Now developing a skill for gifting, he sent Pushinka to the White House, complete with Soviet passport. President John F. Kennedy wrote to thank him: ‘Mrs Kennedy and I were particularly pleased to receive “Pushinka”.

Dupree through

Jacqueline Kennedy: Historic Conversations on Life with John Kennedy

We all have our own tragedies to live. And, in the end, death would claim us all.

The vision of his wife, Jacqueline, crawling onto the back of the limo in order to retrieve the president’s shattered skull has stayed with me always.

All I want is a man with a little imagination. Is that too much to ask?

For all those who have faced the darkest trauma of their lives and struggled to move through, or move on, and for the peace that may come one day after the crucible, in the light of a path toward acceptance. I have been through a lot and I have suffered a great deal, but I’ve had lots of happy moments, as well. I have come to the conclusion that we must not expect too much from life. We must give to life at least as much as we receive from it. Every moment one lives is different from the other, the good, the bad, the hardship, the joy, the tragedy, love, and happiness are all interwoven into one single indescribable whole that is called life. —JACQUELINE KENNEDY ONASSIS, TO MARYAM KHARAZMI, KAYHAN NEWSPAPER, IRAN, MAY 1972

There are many little ways to enlarge your child's world. Love of books is the best of all.

I glanced toward the president. His face was blackened from smoke and one of his eyebrows appeared to have been charbroiled, but other than that, he was alive and well. So was everyone else in the West Wing. The Oval Office wasn’t doing as well, though. The windows had blown out, the furniture was decimated, and despite the gushing sprinklers, a fire was blazing in the middle of the room. “Oh my God!” Kimmy screamed. “Jacqueline Kennedy picked out that carpet! And now it’s ruined!

AT is the conviction that we need external validation to fill a hole deep inside and that in the event that our own impossible demands are not met, we must drink to fill the hole,

hearer,

Every wave is the same, every wave is different, it’s a kind of infinity.

During this and the next six sittings, starting with a quavering voice that grew stronger with time, Jacqueline unburdened herself as the tape machine also picked up the sounds of her lighting cigarettes, of ice cubes in glasses, dogs barking in the distance, trucks rumbling down N Street, and jets roaring overhead.

It took three years,” Chase-Riboud wrote, “from the time a concerned Jacqueline Onassis had turned to me and said, ‘You must write this story,’ to the time it was published at Viking Press with her as my acquiring editor… I realized that sitting beside me in a black one-piece swimsuit was one of the few women in the world who could explain political power and ambition, American sex and American autocracy, the back stairs at the White House and the intolerable glare and flame of living history. Who else?” Who else, indeed?