Mary Davis Quotes

We are made whole By books, as by great spaces and the stars

A good dog never dies. He always stays. He walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near. His head is within our hand in his old way.

I believe in love Nicholas Davies - Earl of Aberdare

The more grateful I am, the more beauty I see.

What can we learn from women like Gertrude "Ma" Rainey, Bessie Smith, and Billie Holiday that we may not be able to learn from Ida B. Wells, Anna Julia Cooper, and Mary Church Terrell? If we were beginning to appreciate the blasphemies of fictionalized blues women - especially their outrageous politics of sexuality - and the knowledge that might be gleaned from their lives about the possibilities of transforming gender relations within black communities, perhaps we also could benefit from a look at the artistic contributions of the original blues women.

Gratitude makes sweet miracles of small moments.

Every act of kindness spreads peace to the world, love to the heart, light to us all.

You said you have issues and, you know, I'm sure you do, because we all have issues and yeah, some are a lot more complicated than others, but at the end of the day, everyone has something in there past that isn't pleasant" "The thing is, you can go on living in the past, never letting yourself heal and move on, or you can accept what happened, painful as that might be, and then realize that you have a life and now and you have something wonderful right in front of you

Tell me something. Why is everyone so determined to believe Wilton is innocent?" Surprised, Davies said, "He's a war hero isn't he? Admired by the King and a friend of the Prince of Wales. He's visited Sandringham, been received by Queen Mary herself! A man like that doesn’t go around killing people!" With a wry downturn of his lips, Rutledge silently asked, How did he win his medals, you fool, if not by being so very damned good at killing?

The cry of my body for completeness, that is a cry to you.

Sometimes when we just stand still, the grace finds us.

A walk in nature walks the soul back home.

Your inner light is what makes you beautiful.

She hands me an ornament of The Virgin Mary. "Pray to the Holy Mary, Mother of God!" I notice she has a gold chain round her neck. It has the holy cross and a shamrock

We all change the world whether we intend to or not. And we always change the world for the better when we plant the seeds of kind thoughts and words.

Look back with joy. Look forward with hope. Be present with peace.

Today I choose calm over chaos, serenity over stress, peace over perfection, grace over grit, faith over fear.

* I am infinitely grateful to be alive. Each breath reminds me of the sacred gift of life.

The angel had said to Mary, "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!" And this blessing isn't always what we think- the happy ending we wanted and the desires of our hearts fulfilled.

There is a famous study from the 1930s involving a group of orphanage babies who, at mealtimes, were presented with a smorgasbord of thirty-four whole, healthy foods. Nothing was processed or prepared beyond mincing or mashing. Among the more standard offerings—fresh fruits and vegetables, eggs, milk, chicken, beef—the researcher, Clara Davis, included liver, kidney, brains, sweetbreads, and bone marrow. The babies shunned liver and kidney (as well as all ten vegetables, haddock, and pineapple), but brains and sweetbreads did not turn up among the low-preference foods she listed. And the most popular item of all? Bone marrow.

And so I sit on the dunes in my carefully mismatched clothes, hour after hour, day after day, frozen in my looking back. 'Do not look behind you...lest you be swept away.' That is what scripture say. Only there is nowhere for me to look but back. No future. No redemption. Like Lot's wife, I am turned to salt, my tired eyes trained on the blue-gray horizon, where sea meets sky, where my yesterday's met my tomorrows, a ragtag eccentric, watching and waiting for something that never comes.

May we be mindful of the joy that lives right where we are—tangled lights and all.

May you be inspired by giving, changed by love, filled with peace and touched by miracles.

May your holidays be filled with the spirit of joy, the wisdom of sight, the heart of love and the soul of light.

We can't heal the world today, but we can begin with a voice of compassion, a heart of love, and an act of kindness.

Anticipate beauty. Believe in miracles. Count on grace. Decide on joy. Expect peace.

In a silent morning moment, with a silent voice I pray, to lift a silent sunrise offering on silent wings of grace.

Say 'I love you' out loud and often.

May we be at peace in our hearts. May we be at peace in our homes. May we be at peace with each other. May we imagine peace in our world.

May the blessings of this day radiate through your smile, be helpful through your hands and shine through your heart.

When you’re feeling stressed, count the ways you’re blessed.

Set up some reminders on your phone, in your journal or on sticky notes to help remember throughout the day to ask for blessings and assistance.

The thing in jazz that will get Bix Beiderbecke out of his bed at two o’clock in the morning, pick that cornet up and practice into the pillow for another two or three hours, or that would make Louis Armstrong travel around the world for fifty plus years non stop, just get up out of his sick bed, crawl up on the bandstand and play, the thing that would make Duke Ellington, the thing that would make Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Mary Lou Williams, the thing that would make all of these people give their lives for this, and they did give their lives, is that it gives us a glimpse into what America is going to be when it becomes itself. And this music tells you that it will become itself. And when you get a taste of that, there’s just nothing else you’re going to taste that’s as sweet.

May today bring us simple things in simple packages. Easy-to-use things. Things we can tuck into our hearts and don’t require instructions or batteries. Simple things like love and peace, like comfort and joy.

Maybe it’s time to decide I am going to wake with joy and enthusiasm each morning and treat myself to simple delights that awaken my soul. Maybe it’s time to bust out of my field of habit and sail over the split rail fence of new beginnings.

The crickets were rubbing their hind legs together, unrolling that endless band of sound that when combined with the sound of the sycamore trees losing their heads in the heat-thickened breeze could cause even a girl as unsentimental as Mary to feel like she’d just left something behind on the porch stoop she couldn’t bear to live without.

marie Kondo says to tri-fold your underwear. The admiral swears making your bed will change your life. Rachel Hollis thinks the key to success is washing your face and believing in yourself. Capsule wardrobes! Rainbow-colored organization! Bullet journals! How many of these have we tried? How many did we stick with? If you’re like me, the answer is probably none.

Plainly, evil is the antithesis of God, which is the antithesis of love. What we know as original sin is simply our propensity to wallow in shame and fear. Both emotions led me to harm myself and others. I discovered that “sin” was not a checklist of dos and don’ts. Sin was more complex and more simple. I needed to navigate my soul out of this mess and return to true love.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rains fall soft upon your field. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand. Today in celebration of Saint Patrick’s Day, we welcome some traditional Irish blessings. May these gentle prayers settle into your soul like a sweet, soft mantra of comfort and serenity.

After these walk-ons, she would banter with announcer Ken Niles and perhaps indulge in more stargazing. In her memoir, radio actress Mary Jane Higby recalls working the show. The “underpaid radio actors” soon took to calling themselves “the Gay Ad-Libbers.” They “would circle the microphone, trying to simulate people having a marvelous time. ‘What fun to be here!’ they would cry. ‘My, doesn’t Myrna Loy look gorgeous! Whoops, there’s Bette Davis!

If I had known what trouble you were bearing; What griefs were in the silence of your face; I would have been more gentle, and more caring, And tried to give you gladness for a space. I would have brought more warmth into the place, If I had known. If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you; (Why do we never try to understand?) I would have lent a little friendship to you, And slipped my hand within your hand, And made your stay more pleasant in the land, If I had known.

Even as Trump eagerly asked aides to relay information from newspaper headlines, including whether his name was mentioned, he had never shown much interest in books. A cabinet next to his bedside contained a book that Ivana later said she saw him occasionally leafing through: an anthology of Adolf Hitler’s speeches called My New Order. (“It was my friend Marty Davis from Paramount who gave me a copy of Mein Kampf, and he’s a Jew,” Trump claimed when pressed about it by journalist Marie Brenner.

Unscrupulous vendors turn the situation to their advantage. In China, nouveau-riche status-seekers are spending small fortunes on counterfeit Bordeaux. A related scenario exists here vis-à-vis olive oil. “The United States is a dumping ground for bad olive oil,” Langstaff told me. It’s no secret among European manufacturers that Americans have no palate for olive oils. The Olive Center—a recent addition to the Robert Mondavi Institute for Wine and Food Science, on the campus of the University of California at Davis—aims to change that.

Indigenous Lives Holding Our World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkala-Sa A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie Spirit Car, by Diane Wilson Two Old Women, by Velma Wallis Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School, by Adam Fortunate Eagle Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq Walking the Rez Road, by Jim Northrup Mamaskatch, by Darrel J. McLeod

The malicious erasure of women’s names from the historical record began two or three thousand years ago and continues into our own period. Women take as great a risk of anonymity when they merge their names with men in literary collaboration as when they merge in matrimony. The Lynds, for example, devoted equal time, thought, and effort to the writing of Middletown, but today it is Robert Lynd’s book. Dr. Mary Leakey made the important paleontological discoveries in Africa, but Dr. Louis Leakey gets all the credit. Mary Beard did a large part of the work on America in Midpassage, yet Charles Beard is the great social historian. The insidious process is now at work on Eve Curie. A recent book written for young people states that radium was discovered by Pierre Curie with the help of his assistant, Eve, who later became his wife. Aspasia wrote the famous oration to the Athenians, as Socrates knew, but in all the history books it is Pericles’ oration. Corinna taught Pindar and polished his poems for posterity; but who ever heard of Corinna? Peter Abelard got his best ideas from Heloise, his acknowledged intellectual superior, yet Abelard is the great medieval scholar and philosopher. Mary Sidney probably wrote Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia; Nausicaa wrote the Odyssey, as Samuel Butler proves in his book The Authoress of the Odyssey, at least to the satisfaction of this writer and of Robert Graves, who comment, “no other alternative makes much sense.

My deepest appreciation to: Everyone at Scholastic Press, especially Marijka Kostiw, Kristina Albertson, Tracy Mack, and Leslie Budnick. Tracey Adams, my wonderful agent. The members of my critique groups, each of whom possess that rare combination of Charlotte the spider: a true friend and a good writer. My retreat-mates who put me on the right track: Franny Billingsley, Toni Buzzeo, Sarah Lamstein, Dana Walrath, Mary Atkinson, Carol Peacock, and Jackie Davies. With special thanks to Amy Butler Greenfield, Nancy Werlin, Amanda Jenkins, Denise Johns, Melissa Wyatt, Lisa Firke, Lisa Harkrader, Laura Weiss, Mary Pearson, Amy McAuley, and Kristina Cliff-Evans. And to my parents, Earl and Elaine Lord, who gave me wings but always left the porch light on to show the way home.

Is there something uniquely dangerous about beans? I posed this question to plant scientist Ann Filmer, recently retired from the University of California, Davis. In her reply, she included a link for a website she had put together on poisonous garden plants. I was taken aback to note that nine of the 112 plants in Category 1 (Major Toxicity: “may cause serious illness or death”) were currently, or had recently been, growing in our yard: oleander, lantana, night-blooming jasmine, lobelia, rhododendron, azalea, toyon, pittosporum, and hellebore. Another, the houseplant croton, was growing in an orange ceramic pot in my office. In other words, it’s not beans. It’s plants, period. If you can’t flee or maul or fire a gun, evolution may help you out with other, quieter ways to avoid being eaten. Over the millennia, natural selection favors eaters who turn up their proboscis at you, and eventually they all steer clear.

Nartok shows me an example of Arctic “greens”: cutout number 13, Caribou Stomach Contents. Moss and lichen are tough to digest, unless, like caribou, you have a multichambered stomach in which to ferment them. So the Inuit let the caribou have a go at it first. I thought of Pat Moeller and what he’d said about wild dogs and other predators eating the stomachs and stomach contents of their prey first. “And wouldn’t we all,” he’d said, “be better off.” If we could strip away the influences of modern Western culture and media and the high-fructose, high-salt temptations of the junk-food sellers, would we all be eating like Inuit elders, instinctively gravitating to the most healthful, nutrient-diverse foods? Perhaps. It’s hard to say. There is a famous study from the 1930s involving a group of orphanage babies who, at mealtimes, were presented with a smorgasbord of thirty-four whole, healthy foods. Nothing was processed or prepared beyond mincing or mashing. Among the more standard offerings—fresh fruits and vegetables, eggs, milk, chicken, beef—the researcher, Clara Davis, included liver, kidney, brains, sweetbreads, and bone marrow. The babies shunned liver and kidney (as well as all ten vegetables, haddock, and pineapple), but brains and sweetbreads did not turn up among the low-preference foods she listed. And the most popular item of all? Bone marrow.

He was tall, with curly light brown hair, and from the rear, at least, very nice looking Emily had come to a halt, watching the jogger, noticing how his muscles gleamed in the morning sun.

Many aspects of the Crutti, Rissetto, Davi, and Sciambra (and later the Andollina and Maggio) attacks were similar: targeting a successful grocery and bar in an unfashionable, isolated part of the city (the Sciambra grocery was less than a mile from the Crutti place) and breaking in during the dead of night. Robbery was never the motive. The assailant usually targeted the man first, if he attacked the woman at all. Harriet Crutti, Mary Davi, and Anna Andollina escaped relatively unscathed. Only Joseph and Conchetta Rissetto were attacked with equal ferocity. And perhaps Catherine Maggio wouldn’t have died if she hadn’t attempted to defend her husband.

AS THE AUTHORITIES IN Gretna convicted the wrong men for the killing of Mary Cortimiglia, so subsequent Axeman authorities have wrongly convicted Joseph Mumfre of being the Axeman. Or at least suggested that he’s the most plausible suspect for one or more of the murders.

Progresivamente me aficioné a las películas, me convertí en espectador asiduo y ahora pienso que la sala de un cinematógrafo es el lugar que yo elegiría para esperar el fin del mundo. Me enamoré, simultánea o sucesivamente, de las actrices de cine Louise Brooks, Marie Prévost, Dorothy Mackay, Marion Davis, Evelyn Brent y Anna May Wong. De estos amores imposibles, el que tuve por Louise Brooks fue el más v ivo, el mas desdichado. ¡Me disgustaba tanto creer que nunca la conoscería! Peor aún, que nunca volvería a verla. Esto, precisamente, fue lo que sucedió. Despuesde tres o cuatros películas, en que la vi embeselado, Louise Brooks desapareció de las pantallas de Buenos Aires. Sentí esa desaparición, primero, como un desgarriamento; después, como una derrota personal. Debía admitir que si Louise Brooks hubiera gustado al público, no hubiera desaparecido. La verdad (o lo que yo sentía) es que no sólo pasó inadvertida por el gran público, sino también por las personas que yo conocía. Si concedían que era linda – más bien ‘bonitilla’ – , lamentaban que fuera mala actriz; si encontraban que era una actriz inteligente, lamentaban que no fuera más bella. Como ante la derrota de Firpo, comprobé que la realidad y yo no estábamos de acuerdo. Muchos años despés, en París, vi una película (creo que de Jessua) en que el héroe, como yo (cuando estaba por escribir Corazón de payaso, uno de mis primeros intentos literarios), inconteniblemente echaba todo a la broma y, de ese modo, se hacía odiar por la mujer querida. El personaje tenía otro parecido conmigo: admiraba a Louise Brooks. Desde entonces, en mi país y en otros, encuentro continuas pruebas de esa admiración, y también pruebas que la actriz la merecía. En el New Yorker y en los Cahiers du cinéma leí articulos sobre ella, admirativos e inteligentes. Leí, asimismo, Lulú en Hollywood, un divertido libro de recuerdos, escrito por Louise Brooks. En el 73 o en el 75, mi amigo Edgardo Cozarinsky me cito una tarde en un cafe de la Place de L’Alma, en Paris, para que conociera a una muchacha que haria el papel de Louise Brooks en un filme en preparacion. Yo era el experto que debia decirle si la muchacha era aceptable o no para el papel. Le dije que si, no solamente para ayudar a la posible actriz. Es claro que si me huberian hecho la pregunta en tiempos de mi angustiosa pasion, quiza la respuesta hubiera sido distinta. Para me, entonces, nadie se parecia a Louise Brooks.

At the same time, Beausoleil got into trouble with a biker gang who hung out at Spahn Ranch. Beausoleil had sold mescaline manufactured by Gary Hinman to the bikers, who reported that the drugs were actually poison. They wanted their money back. Manson convinced Beausoleil to confront Hinman and demand from him not only the drug money but anything else of value he possessed. Beausoleil drove with Bruce Davis, Susan Atkins, and Mary Brunner to Hinman’s house on July 25, 1969. At the house, Beausoleil pulled a gun on Hinman when he refused to give back the money. There was nothing wrong with the mescaline, Hinman said. Susan kept the gun on Hinman while Beausoleil searched the house, but Hinman managed to overpower her, causing Beausoleil to beat him. Eventually, Davis drove back to Spahn Ranch to pick up Manson, who wanted to take part in what was to follow. Manson brought a sword and used it to slash Hinman’s face and cut off part of his ear. After Manson left, Beausoleil continued to beat Hinman over the course of the night and into the next day, with Susan and Mary still present. Hinman maintained that he had no money and threatened to call the police as soon as they left. Beausoleil called Manson to tell him about Hinman’s threat, and Manson ordered him to kill Hinman, making the murder look as though the Black Panthers did it in retaliation for the murder of Lotsa Poppa. Beausoleil stabbed Hinman to death and used his blood to write the phrase “political piggy” on the wall. Beausoleil, Susan, and Mary tried to remove their fingerprints from Hinman’s home before they drove away in his cars. It took two weeks before anyone found Hinman’s body.

what Lee and Jefferson Davis didn’t understand was that to destroy a union founded on freedom was to declare all of humanity’s endeavors foolhardy.

When she looked into his eyes she felt a hunger deep in her soul.

Keep your eyes on beauty, your body in the breath, and your soul in gratitude.

Pay attention to how you feel. Notice the sense of ease or resistance. Listen to your heart and respond. You will not be led astray.

Smile - A smile and some laughter can change our biology and lift anxiety.

May I be blessed today with wisdom, patience and strength.

May I be blessed. This. Let this become our mantra today.

You are a blessing to the world.

Grant me strength when I feel small. Grant me faith when I lose sight. Grant me hope when all seems lost. Grant me grace in morning’s light.

Indigenous Lives Holding Our World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkála-Šá A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie Spirit Car, by Diane Wilson Two Old Women, by Velma Wallis Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School, by Adam Fortunate Eagle Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq Walking the Rez Road, by Jim Northrup Mamaskatch, by Darrel J.

We lift this day with a thought of love, an act of kindness and a heart of hope.

Write, say or think a note of thanks to someone who paved the way for you. Even if only a few words, even if only in your mind, your gratitude will bless the sender and the receiver.

Today, keep your eyes on the blessings. Find them, great and small, everywhere you turn. You will be amazed by how they will multiply throughout the day.

World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkála-Šá A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler Braiding Sweetgrass, by Robin Wall Kimmerer You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me, by Sherman Alexie Spirit Car, by Diane Wilson Two Old Women, by Velma Wallis Pipestone: My Life in an Indian Boarding School, by Adam Fortunate Eagle Split Tooth, by Tanya Tagaq Walking the Rez Road, by Jim Northrup Mamaskatch, by Darrel J.

Though I am a relentless optimist, I’ve finally learned a big truth: Happiness is not meant to be a full-time job. We are born with intense feelings and it’s essential to allow all of our emotions to be seen, heard and welcomed for as long as we are feeling them.

Stressful thoughts are resistant thoughts. Notice when they infiltrate your mind today.

All else will fall into place when we slow down, notice the gifts and give thanks.

Angels, be with me now.

Today I radiate blessings of thanksgiving to all of the souls who have left this world before me. Thank you for changing me with your life.

The river of amazing grace flows by us at all times. We need only to step into the water.

The Red and the Black, by Stendhal Luster, by Raven Leilani Asymmetry, by Lisa Halliday All the Pretty Horses, by Cormac McCarthy Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides The Vixen, by Francine Prose Legends of the Fall, by Jim Harrison The Winter Soldier, by Daniel Mason Indigenous Lives Holding Our World Together, by Brenda J. Child American Indian Stories, by Zitkála-Šá A History of My Brief Body, by Billy-Ray Belcourt The Falling Sky: Words of a Yanomami Shaman, by Davi Kopenawa and Bruce Albert Apple: Skin to the Core, by Eric Gansworth Heart Berries, by Terese Marie Mailhot The Blue Sky, by Galsan Tschinag Crazy Brave, by Joy Harjo Standoff, by Jacqueline Keeler

We are being asked to exercise nothing less than gratitude during the challenging times as well as in the good times.

Assume there is a blessing within all experiences.

Forgive yourself and let it go.

I trust my inner voice.

I walk through this day with peace in my heart, with joy as the measure of my accomplishments and with gratitude rising with each step.

May the joy of simple things color the canvas of your soul.

Listening. Waiting. Patience. They are all acts of love.

Our bodies and minds might be shopping, but our souls naturally want to wait. In this Season of Lights, we are preparing a place in our hearts into which rebirth takes place. Let’s listen. And be patient. And wait. Let’s open and receive, preparing the way—for the greatest love.

Wishing you a day filled with peace, love and joy.

I let my worries go so I can be here for the beauty that surrounds me now.

May I be a little more patient today than I was yesterday.

Bless my mind with calm and sight. Bless my heart with love and light. Bless my day with grace and ease. Bless my world with hope and peace.

The world is in need of our peace today.

So how do we become a warrior for peace? There are countless ways we can contribute to the cause of spreading peace on our planet. It begins with making peace within ourselves and from this place of light, we can spread the energy of our love consciously in meditation and through our every action in the world.

I align with the divine.

From challenges grow miracles.

If we could see the power of our thoughts, we would only think loving thoughts.

As beings of light, we can all be students of our own highest teaching. What is repeated becomes habitual, and it is essential that we become mindful of our tendency to complain and lean instead toward positive, affirmative, light-filled thoughts and words.

Let love be the power behind every thought.

Today is a complaint-free day. Catch yourself in any complaints and rephrase in the positive. If today works well, continue into tomorrow. After several days the habit of complaining will drop away.

Bless this day with love and light. Bless this day with faith and sight. Bless this day with grace and ease. Bless this day with joy and peace.

Together as light workers, we can pour love into the world through our thoughts, words and actions. We can be powerful activists for change without being negative or destructive and without attacking people personally.

When we least expect it, we find ourselves starting over.

Life’s transitions can sweep us out to sea and toss us on the waves, sometimes for long stretches of time.

Stowed away in these times of transition are chances to make some brand new choices based on the promptings of spirit.

As unsettling as they are, transitions offer us a unique opportunity. They present us with the chance to style our new lives in a way that more deeply reflects our true selves, and to create a life more in keeping with the flow of our own true current.