Missing Birthplace Quotes

SELF-HELP FOR FELLOW REFUGEES If your name suggests a country where bells might have been used for entertainment, or to announce the entrances and exits of the seasons and the birthdays of gods and demons, it's probably best to dress in plain clothes when you arrive in the United States. And try not to talk too loud. If you happen to have watched armed men beat and drag your father out the front door of your house and into the back of an idling truck, before your mother jerked you from the threshold and buried your face in her skirt folds, try not to judge your mother too harshly. Don't ask her what she thought she was doing, turning a child's eyes away from history and toward that place all human aching starts. And if you meet someone in your adopted country and think you see in the other's face an open sky, some promise of a new beginning, it probably means you're standing too far. Or if you think you read in the other, as in a book whose first and last pages are missing, the story of your own birthplace, a country twice erased, once by fire, once by forgetfulness, it probably means you're standing too close. In any case, try not to let another carry the burden of your own nostalgia or hope. And if you're one of those whose left side of the face doesn't match the right, it might be a clue looking the other way was a habit your predecessors found useful for survival. Don't lament not being beautiful. Get used to seeing while not seeing. Get busy remembering while forgetting. Dying to live while not wanting to go on. Very likely, your ancestors decorated their bells of every shape and size with elaborate calendars and diagrams of distant star systems, but with no maps for scattered descendants. And I bet you can't say what language your father spoke when he shouted to your mother from the back of the truck, "Let the boy see!" Maybe it wasn't the language you used at home. Maybe it was a forbidden language. Or maybe there was too much screaming and weeping and the noise of guns in the streets. It doesn't matter. What matters is this: The kingdom of heaven is good. But heaven on earth is better. Thinking is good. But living is better. Alone in your favorite chair with a book you enjoy is fine. But spooning is even better.

No worldly mind would ever have suspected that He Who could make the sun warm the earth would one day have need of an ox and an ass to warm Him with their breath; that He Who, in the language of Scriptures, could stop the turning about of Arcturus would have His birthplace dictated by an imperial census; that He, Who clothed the fields with grass, would Himself be naked; that He, from Whose hands came planets and worlds, would one day have tiny arms that were not long enough to touch the huge heads of the cattle; that the feet which trod the everlasting hills would one day be too weak to walk; that the Eternal Word would be dumb; that Omnipotence would be wrapped in swaddling clothes; that Salvation would lie in a manger; that the bird which built the nest would be hatched therein—no one would ever have suspected that God coming to this earth would ever be so helpless. And that is precisely why so many miss Him. Divinity is always where one least expects to find it.

The first journey takes you from your birthplace towards your career world. One place you miss and one you kiss.

The first and worst problem of migration illustrates that most immigrants miss and even lose their culture, literature, language, values, and the atmosphere of religious surroundings and family connections, whereas the second and grave matter is that they are unable and unwilling to adopt the new ones since the cat and lion features look similar but cannot be the same. As a fact, immigrants live and breathe in the circus, having the best care and all facilities, but not as a birthplace where they belong. It is a tragedy of feelings that no one views or realizes seriously.

That was life, wasn't it? Making connections, bonding with people and places, then moving forward without them. Missing them. Carrying those influences around, sort of like layers of clothing. Her birthplace was one layer, her family another. Her best friend, Josephine. Antarctica. Now Boston. Sometimes it hurt to collect another layer, to make new friends and have new experiences when she still ached for the layers closest to her skin, but she would keep pursuing nights like this, because she'd made a promise to her sister.

Looking for a comfortable one-day getaway that blends devotion, romance, and history? The Delhi to Agra Mathura Vrindavan Tour by AC Car is your perfect pick. It’s a beautiful road trip that lets you explore the spiritual energy of Mathura and Vrindavan along with the timeless charm of Agra — all in a single day. The journey starts early morning from Delhi. As your AC car leaves the city behind, the smooth Yamuna Expressway greets you with calm roads and fresh morning air. The comfort of the car makes the drive relaxing, letting you enjoy the scenery without any rush. Your first stop is Mathura, the birthplace of Lord Krishna. The town is alive with chants, temple bells, and a feeling of peace that instantly touches your heart. Visit the Shri Krishna Janmabhoomi Temple, one of the most sacred places in India. The small streets, colorful shops, and aroma of sweets make the experience even more memorable. Don’t miss tasting the famous Mathura peda — it’s a local favorite. Next, you’ll head to Vrindavan, the divine town where Lord Krishna spent his childhood. Every corner here feels magical. The Banke Bihari Temple is a must-visit — filled with music, devotion, and joy. You can also explore the ISKCON Temple, known for its spiritual atmosphere, and the beautiful Prem Mandir, which shines like a jewel in daylight and glows even brighter at night.

Using price as a measure of how much joy you’ll get out of a purchase can miss one of the most important lessons in business history: Premium prices are often found on branded products, and the purpose of a brand is not to signal quality. It’s to signal consistency. An important feature of life in the United States before 1850 is that most people never traveled more than a few dozen miles from their birthplace. Life was local. You ate food grown in your town. Your house was made of local lumber. Your clothes were sewn by a local seamstress. You knew the person who made them. That person was often yourself. The industrial revolution and the Civil War changed that. Millions of people and soldiers were suddenly on the move, and railroads provided a way to transfer goods farther and faster than ever before. Robert Gordon writes in his book The Rise and Fall of American Growth: “As America steadily became more urban and as real incomes rose, the share of food and clothing produced at home declined sharply…. Many American men had their first experience of canned food as Union soldiers during the Civil War.” This was one of the biggest breakthroughs in history. But it posed a problem. For the first time, consumers were disconnected from the person who made their food. For most of history, a bad product was either your own fault or could be taken up face-to-face with a local merchant. But canned food came from dozens of suppliers, none of whom customers knew or could identify. Without accountability, quality was horrendous. Harper’s Weekly wrote in 1869: “The city people are in constant danger of buying unwholesome [canned meat]; the dealers are unscrupulous, and the public uneducated.” No one knew who to trust. The William Underwood Company solved this problem. Underwood was one of dozens of canned meat suppliers. Recognizing that canned meat had a reputation for inconsistency, Underwood created a red devil logo consumers would recognize. It added a tagline: “Branded with the devil, but fit for gods.” The logo re-created the familiarity that face-to-face commerce had achieved for most of history. No matter what part of the country they were in, consumers who saw the devil logo knew they were getting a specific product made by a specific company under specific quality standards. They were happy to pay more for Underwood meat because it reduced the gamble they would otherwise take with an unknown product.