Premature Celebration Quotes

Ageing is nothing to be ashamed of Especially when the entire race is in it together Although sometimes it seems that she alone among her friends wants to celebrate getting older Because it’s such a privilege to not die prematurely

Celebrate when you're half done, And the finish won't be half as fun.

My mother who died young In an outlandish rhythm Would have been seventy now And perhaps dead in funeral time. So I may start to mourn As I would celebrate The first or second birthday Of a still-born baby. - Out of Season

ageing is nothing to be ashamed of especially when the entire human race is in it together although sometimes it seems that she alone among her friends wants to celebrate getting older because it’s such a privilege to not die prematurely,

although sometimes it seems that she alone among her friends wants to celebrate getting older because it's such a privilege to not die prematurely, she tells them as the night draws in around her kitchen table in her cosy terraced house in Brixton

In our folk nobody has any experience of youth, there’s barely even any time for being a toddler. The children simply don’t have any time in which they might be children........Indeed... there’s simply no way that we would be able to provide our children with a viable childhood, one that is real. Naturally, there are consequences. There’s a certain ever present, not to be liquidated childishness that permeates our folk; We often act in ways that are totally and utterly ridiculous and, indeed, precisely like children we do things that are crazy, letting loose with our assets in a manner that is bereft of all rationality, prodigious in our celebrations, partaking in a light-headed frivolousness that is divorced from all sensibility, and often enough all simply for the sake of some small token of fun, so much do we love having our small amusements. But our folk isn’t only childish, to a certain extent we also age prematurely, childhood and old age mix themselves differently with us than by others. We don’t have any youth, we jump right away into maturity and, then, we remain grown-ups for too long and as a consequence to this there’s a broad shadow of a certain tiredness and a sort of hopelessness that colours our essential nature, a nature that as a whole is otherwise so tenacious and permeated by hope, strong hope. This, no doubt, this is related to why we’re so disinclined toward music—we’re too old for music, so much excitement, so much passion doesn’t sit well with our heaviness;

Companionably he handed her a small glass filled with rich, plum-red liquid. Receiving it with some surprise, Daisy held it up to her nose for a cautious sniff. "Madeira," she said with a smile. "Thank you. Although celebration is a bit premature since the baby still isn't here." "This isn't for celebration. It's to help you relax." "How did you know what my favorite wine was?" she asked. He shrugged. "A lucky guess." But somehow she knew it hadn't been luck.

My friend (and ex-lover) Nicole says I’m just a restless soul. My barhopping friend Mark thinks it’s just a premature middle-age crisis; I just celebrated my 33rd birthday last week, after all. I have another theory. It’s not original, so I can’t call it the James Garraty Theory of Life. Want to hear it? Here goes. No matter how old you get, how affluent or successful you become, you’ll never outrun the ghosts of your past. Particularly the ghosts of your adolescence. Put simply, you can graduate from high school, but your soul will never leave that place.

Fussing over children who cry only encourages them, she told us. That's positive reinforcement for negative behavior. I never believed in Santa Claus. None of us kids did. Mom and Dad refused to let us. They couldn't afford expensive presents, and they didn't want us to think we weren't as good as other kids who, on Christmas morning, found all sorts of fancy toys under the tree that were supposedly left by Santa Claus...Pick out your favorite star, Dad said it was my Christmas present....Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten, Dad said, you'll still have your stars. Some babies are premature. Mine were all postmature. That's why they're so smart. Their brains had longer to develop. It's not being prejudiced, Mom said. It's a matter of accuracy in labeling. When Dad went crazy, we all had our own ways of shutting down and closing off, and that was what we did that night. I didn't feel like celebrating. After all he'd put himself through, I couldn't believe Dad had gone back to the booze. Dad, please come, we need you! I hollered. We need you! we shouted. You're the head of the family! You're the dad! I had to believe they'd come back, I told myself. If I didn't believe, then they might not return. They might leave us forever. Mom...Things usually work out in the end. What if they don't?...That just means you haven't come to the end yet.

A beautiful discipline of the soul can become sappy, mindless counsel, if we divorce it from the biblical roots of honesty, grief, lament, and genuine celebration from which it originates. No! If we are to live praising lives, robust lives of affirmation, we must live truly, honestly, and courageously. We cannot take shortcuts to the act of praising. We cannot praise prematurely.

We often make heroes or celebrities of people for their virtues (not just their actions) in one area of their lives. Later we discover feet of clay in other areas of their lives, and we are disproportionately disillusioned. A new biography revealing hitherto unknown faults in some public figure's private life affects our view of the person as whole for the worse.' If we admire people for their virtue on the basis merely of one area of their lives, we risk being prematurely satisfied in our heroes and role models, and this will frequently lead to later disappointment, not just with the particular person but with the whole project of becoming brave, generous, or whatever.

Remember me, I scream. Celebrate me. Do not box me up and throw me away. Stop avoiding every memory of who I was. I lived, and I do not want to only be recognized for my premature death. That was only the end. Before that was sixteen years of life—good, bad, funny, fun.

Celebrate me. Do not box me up and throw me away. Stop avoiding every memory of who I was. I lived, and I do not want to only be recognized for my premature death. That was only the end.

Throughout the book I have continually used the phrase earning and receiving.  Why do I keep adding the words "and receiving?"  Because, as everyone who has ever tried to sell anything has discovered, to his dismay, it's one thing to earn a fee, but quite another to actually receive it.  You make a grave mistake if you develop the habit of prematurely celebrating.

Being dead sucks, but watching them destroy the life I had is worse. Remember me, I scream. Celebrate me. Do not box me up and throw me away. Stop avoiding every memory of who I was. I lived, and I do not want to only be recognized for my premature death. That was only the end.

On November 2, 1899, eight members of the United States Navy were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for extraordinary heroism and service beyond the call of duty. On the night of June 2, 1898, they had volunteered to scuttle the collier USS Merrimac, with the intention of blocking the entry channel to Santiago de Cuba. On orders of Rear Admiral William T. Sampson, who was in command, their intention was to trap Spanish Admiral Cervera’s fleet in the harbor. Getting the USS Merrimac underway, the eight men navigated the ship towards a predetermined location where sinking her would seal the port. Their course knowingly took them within the range of the Spanish ships and the shore batteries. The sailors were well aware of the danger this put them into, however they put their mission first. Once the Spanish gunners saw what was happening, they realized what the Americans were up to and started firing their heavy artillery from an extremely close range. The channel leading into Santiago is narrow, preventing the ship from taking any evasive action. The American sailors were like fish in a barrel and the Spanish gunners were relentless. In short order, the heavy shelling from the Spanish shore batteries disabled the rudder of the Merrimac and caused the ship to sink prematurely. The USS Merrimac went down without achieving its objective of obstructing navigation and sealing the port. ‎Fête du Canada or Canada Day is the anniversary of the July 1, 1867, enactment of the Canadian Constitution Act. This weekend Americans also celebrate the United States’, July 4, 1776 birthday, making this time perfect to celebrate George Fredrick Phillips heroic action. Phillips was one of the men mentioned in the story above of the USS Merrimac. He was born on March 8, 1862, in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada and joined the United States Navy in March 1898 in Galveston, Texas. Phillips became a Machinist First Class and displayed extraordinary heroism throughout the Spanish bombardment during their operation. He was discharged from the Navy in August 1903, and died a year later at the age of 42 in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His body was returned to Canada where he was interred with honors at the Fernhill Cemetery in his hometown of Saint John, New Brunswick.

Given these five compelling reasons to reconsider dietary choice—anymal suffering and premature death, environmental degradation, world hunger, labor injustices, and our own health—it is not surprising that the world’s most commonly celebrated religions require and/or encourage a diet of greens, grains, fruits, and legumes, while simultaneously forbidding and/or discouraging the slaughter of anymals and the consumption of anymal products.