Judith Viorst Quotes

Strength is the capacity to break a Hershey bar into four pieces with your bare hands - and then eat just one of the pieces.

I think I'll move to Australia.

Some days are like that. Even in Australia.

I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there's gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

Superstition is foolish, childish, primitive and irrational, but how much does it cost you to knock on wood?

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

...we should never grow so old, or change so much, that we cannot find room in our hearts for the wisdom of children's books.

Chega um tempo em que não nos é permitido não saber.

It doesn’t even matter if they out-and-out abhor me, Because when I am done with them, they’ll totally adore me.

If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save, He says he'd save me.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

There comes a time when we aren't allowed not to know.

It is true love because when he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the middle of the street, I always hope he’s dead.

I had it together on Sunday. By Monday at noon it had cracked. On Tuesday debris Was descending on me. And by Wednesday no part was intact. On Thursday I picked up some pieces. On Friday I picked up the rest. By Saturday, late, It was almost set straight. And on Sunday the world was impressed With how well I had got it together.

It is the image in the mind that binds us to our lost treasures, but it is the loss that shapes the image. —Colette

I hope the next time you get a double-decker strawberry ice-cream cone the ice cream part falls off the cone and lands in Australia.

There is no ache more Deadly than the striving to be oneself. —Yevgeniy Vinokurov

It's only when you love him that you hate him.

Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces, and then eat just one of the pieces.

It was a terrible horrible no good very bad day

I didn't really notice that he had a funny nose. And he certainly looked better all dressed up in fancy clothes. He's not nearly as attractive as he seemed the other night. So I think I'll just pretend that this glass slipper feels too tight.

Infantile love follows the principle ‘I love because I am loved.’ “Mature love follows the principle ‘I am loved because I love.’ “Immature love says ‘I love you because I need you.’ “Mature love says ‘I need you because I love you.

Infatuation is when you think he's as sexy as Robert Redford, as smart as Henry Kissinger, as noble as Ralph Nader, as funny as Woody Allen, and as athletic as Jimmy Conners. Love is when you realize that he's as sexy as Woody Allen, as smart as Jimmy Connors, as funny as Ralph Nader, as athletic as Henry Kissinger and nothing like Robert Redford - but you'll take him anyway.

In fact, I would like to propose that central to understanding our lives is understanding how we deal with loss. I would like to propose in this book that the people we are and the lives that we lead are determined, for better and worse, by our loss experiences.

Young fantasies of magic and of mystery Are over. But they really can't compete With all we've built together: A long history. Connections that help render us complete. Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet, Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life.

We each are artists of the self, creating a collage -- a new and original work of art -- out of scraps and fragments of identifications. The people with whom we identify are, positively or negatively, always important to us. Our feelings toward them are, in some way, always intense.

Um modo de não sentir falta, está claro, consiste em ficar em casa, não sair, embora nem sempre precise admitir que não sai. Pois, embora alguns jovens se agarrem abertamente à família, há aqueles que, com uma grande demonstração de independência, descobrem um modo de jamais sair de casa.

Responsável significa, naturalmente, amarrar o próprio sapato. Mas significa também não ter permissão para culpar uma infância terrível — ou uma paixão, uma tentação, uma ignorância ou uma inocência — por atos que são nossos, por ações que realmente praticamos. Pois se, na realidade, as praticamos, somos responsáveis.

Mas reconhecer tudo isso e ainda assim encontrar a liberdade, fazer as escolhas, saber o que é e o que pode vir a ser, isso é o adulto responsável. Curvando-se à necessidade, deve escolher. Es- sa liberdade de escolha é a carga e a dádiva que todos recebem ao deixar a infância, a carga e a dádiva que todos levam quando atin- gem o fim da infância.

Lasts I want all of my lasts to be with you. —ANONYMOUS Wouldn’t I linger with you till the sky had turned black If this was the very last sunset we’d ever see? Wouldn’t desire be trumping that pain in my back If this was the last time that you could make love to me? Would I complain you were stepping all over my toes If this was the last of the dances we’d ever dance? And wouldn’t I travel wherever the highway goes, If you traveled with me and this was our last chance?

Levamos para o casamento uma infinidade de expectativas ro- mânticas. As vezes, também visões de míticos êxtases sexuais. E impomos à nossa vida sexual muitas outras expectativas, muitos outros "devia ser", que o ato quotidiano do amor não consegue realizar. A terra devia tremer. Nossos ossos deviam cantar. Fogos de artifício deviam explodir. O ser consciente — o eu — devia ser queimado na pira do amor. Devíamos alcançar o paraíso, ou um fac-símile razoável. Nós nos desapontamos.

Indeed, analyst Robert Bak calls orgasm "the perfect promise between love and death," the means by which we repatriate separation of mother and child through the momentary extinction of the self. It is true that few of us consciously climb into a lover's bed in the hope of finding our mommy between the sheets. But the sexual loss of our separateness (which may scare people so badly they cannot have orgasm) brings us pleasure, in part, because it unconsciously repeats our first connection.

pet. Now, a big black bear who liked listening to the music that insects make in the early evening couldn’t hear their song because Lulu’s was louder. Plus, a lot of the insects were deader because Lulu kept on spraying them with her spray. This made him mad. Then madder. Then madder than that. He growled a thunderous growl, and then he lumbered heavily down the forest path and stood on his two hind legs in front of Lulu. Waving a big claw-y paw in her face, he said, “You’re interrupting my favorite program.” (Please don’t give me an argument. In my story, bears are allowed to have favorite programs.) “So I’m going to scratch you to pieces with my claws.

My Father, the Age I Am Now Time, which diminishes all things, increases understanding for the aging. —PLUTARCH My mother was the star: Smart and funny and warm, A patient listener and an easy laugher. My father was . . . an accountant: Not one to look up to, Ask advice from, Confide in. A man of few words. We faulted him—my mother, my sister, and I, For being this dutiful, uninspiring guy Who never missed a day of work, Or wondered what our dreams were. Just . . . an accountant. Decades later, My mother dead, my sister dead, My father, the age I am now, Planning ahead in his so-accountant way, Sent me, for my records, Copies of his will, his insurance policies, And assorted other documents, including The paid receipt for his cemetery plot, The paid receipt for his tombstone, And the words that he had chosen for his stone. And for the first time, shame on me, I saw my father: Our family’s prime provider, only provider. A barely-out-of-boyhood married man Working without a safety net through the Depression years That marked him forever, Terrified that maybe he wouldn’t make it, Terrified he would fall and drag us down with him, His only goal, his life-consuming goal, To put bread on our table, a roof over our head. With no time for anyone’s secrets, With no time for anyone’s dreams, He quietly earned the words that made me weep, The words that were carved, the following year, On his tombstone: HE TOOK CARE OF HIS FAMILY.

We cannot be whole human beings—indeed, we may find it hard to be human—without the sustenance of this first attachment. –JUDITH VIORST

Severe separations in early life leave emotional scars on the brain because they assault the essential human connection: The [parent-child] bond which teaches us that we are lovable. The [parent-child] bond which teaches us how to love. We cannot be whole human beings—indeed, we may find it hard to be human—without the sustenance of this first attachment. –JUDITH VIORST

There are many perpetrators who seem to have a sixth sense for identifying people who have lost the ability to protest and blame unfairness. If we do not register a “negative” feeling response to hurtfulness, we cannot tell that we are being abused. Instead we tacitly “forgive” our abusers just as we were forced to tacitly forgive our parents, no matter how much ongoing abuse they dish out. This is why psychoanalyst Judith Viorst says: